We, Alone
by continuedinterests
Summary: Voldemort only waited five years. Harry Potter remained the unwanted nephew. Hermione Granger stayed the friendless know-it-all. That is until they found each other and magic. That is, until Voldemort found them. H/Hr. AU. Formerly known as Resolution. Sequel started and up.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

 **Formerly known as Resolution. No major changes, just combined chapters and made small edits.**

He looked forward to seeing them, always hopeful that today would be the day for one of their frequent visits. It was a bit pathetic, really.

He looked forward to work over all other parts of his life. Considering that his work was exhausting, between the physical labor of hauling heavy dishes from one side of the restaurant to the other and the occasional entitled and rude patron, he wondered if it spoke to the character of his happy coworkers, or the absolute crappiness of the rest of his life.

But regardless, the highlight of work was undoubtedly the Granger family. Whenever they came, work stopped feeling like work and felt more like having friends over for tea. The only time he felt like he had friends.

He couldn't imagine why he thought it was a bit pathetic.

He liked both of the doctors immensely, the way they flirted like teenagers, the way the love for their daughter shone in every teasing word.

But if he was being honest, he really looked forward to seeing their daughter the most.

It was hard to understand fully. Sure, she was his age and felt the most like a friend. Yes, she was pretty and funny and smart. But there was something else. Something that hung in the air around her, a kind of electricity. It was somehow both comforting and exhilarating to be around. It wasn't a smell, or a sight or a sound. It was something intangible, like hormones, like the charged space between eyes making contact.

It was like magic.

* * *

The summer before her twelfth birthday, Hermione had expected something. She wasn't sure what exactly, but she felt it would be great. She was going to start secondary school soon, but no matter how she tried to make it fit, it was a square peg in a round hole. Her excitement wasn't about secondary school. She couldn't seem to concentrate throughout the summer, and as the start of school came closer, even books couldn't keep her attention. She started having trouble sleeping, her pounding heart keeping her awake.

The start of school came and went and the great feeling of excitement, something like reaching the crest of a great winding roller coaster, didn't dissipate. The night before her twelfth birthday she couldn't sleep. She rolled around on her bed, sighing, starting and throwing away books, watching the clock. She started glancing at the window every few seconds, watching the sky lighten from black to grey to pink. She sat a chair by the window and watched the sunrise, her foot tapping impatiently.

But morning came and went. By the time her mother called her down to lunch, Hermione had drawn her legs to her chest and sobbed into her knees, rocking back and forth. She knew, she felt it in her nerves and fibers, that she had missed something important. That for some reason, her birthday, even such an unremarkable one as twelve, ment the sealing away of something she needed, that she desperately wanted.

Her mother found her there, exhausted and sobbing. She wrapped her in a hug and patted her hair, confused and alarmed. She had asked her what was wrong, but couldn't get an answer, as Hermione hadn't really know either.

* * *

"She is like this every birthday, Marcie, ever since she was twelve. She gets moody and stays in her room. She only starts to act herself a few days after really. The first time I just thought that she was starting her period, or having some pubescent existential crisis. But it happens every year still, and I think she is getting a little too old for it, honestly. What teenager hates their birthday so much? She acts like she is turning forty and starting menopause every time, I just don't….Yes, I know, I know. Hermione is such a good girl, I… yes, she did extremely well in her A-levels. Yes, of course, and she is heading off to Cambridge too, you're right, I've no right to complain. I should allow some sort of moodiness every once and awhile. But, it's just that Hermione is such a serious, logical young women, these birthday fits are so out of character. Right, alright, I know you have to run, tell Dave and Mark I say hi." Her mother hung up the phone with a sigh.

"Marcie says, 'Happy Birthday,' Hermione." Her mum yelled up the stairs as she headed out the door, heading out on some errand or another, not knowing that Hermione had heard the whole conversation, her head leaning against the door. She heard her father shuffle closer to her, coming down the hall from her parent's room. She heard him slow, then stop, waiting a moment before hesitantly knocking on the door.

"Hey, puppet, how do you feel about getting a late lunch and taking a walk around the park? I know you aren't feeling well, and I don't expect my usual chipper girl, but it has to beat staying cooped up in this room right?" Her felt her father lean against the door to wait for her response.

She knew she wasn't being rational, and every year she felt almost irritated as her mother with her moodiness around her birthday, but it couldn't be helped. But her father was right, if she was going to be miserable, might as well do it outside.

"Alright, but I can't promise I won't want to go home at anytime."

"There's my girl. How much time will you need before we go?"

"Oh, 15 minutes maybe."

"Half hour it is, then."

"20 minutes at most."

"Sure Sweetie."

Her father pushed away from the door, and Hermione closed her eyes, sighing against the sadness in her chest, and went to get ready.

* * *

Twenty-five minutes later, they were out the door, heading to the underground to go to the city, to their favorite all day breakfast place. It was the middle of September, but it felt like summer. Still, despite the heat, some trees couldn't wait and started to turn their leaves early. Hermione, noticing a bright red leaf dangling from an otherwise green tree, gave a small jump and took it from its branch as they walked from the station to the restaurant.

"One second you're moping in your room and the next you're hopping after leaves like a child." Her dad laughed as he watched her tuck the leaf into the inner pocket of her light jacket.

"Oh, you know I love autumn. First red leaf I've seen of the season. I think that you were right, this is much better than staying in. I almost don't feel like hiding in a dark hole. Is Mum coming?"

"She has some clients this afternoon, but she said she'll join us for dinner before the ballet. I'm glad you're feeling better, puppet." Her dad swung his arm around her shoulders as they entered the restaurant, called the Winchester.

"Hello there, Grangers. No Mrs. Doctor today?" A handsome young man, his hair a ruffled black, lead them towards the back of the restaurant, to their usual table.

"No, not today I'm afraid, Harry. It is, however, Hermione's birthday. If you can believe it, she is already 18 years old!"

Hermione wacked her dad on the leg under the table. Trying to look natural, she meet the bright green eyes of their server. "Haha, yes, yes it is. But please, don't do anything embarr..."

"Hello everybody! Today is the birthday of one of our most special regulars, Hermione Granger. Can everybody please join me in singing her a happy 18th birthday?"

Everyone in the Winchester exploded into song with Harry, most of them regulars. The few newcomers looked around, alarmed, before joining in. Hermione hid her face in her hands as the men at the bar added a, "and many morrreeeee," to end the display.

"Harry Potter! I could murder you, I could."

"Ah, you could fry an egg on your face, Hermione, it's priceless. Shall I get the usual, Hermione, Dr. Granger?"

"Yes, thank you, Harry."

Harry returned with their full English breakfast and a wink for Hermione as he headed back into the kitchen. Hermione rolled her eyes and scoffed to try and hide her small smile.

" I see you still haven't gotten over your crush. Why don't you ever ask him out, Hermione?" Her dad dug into his beans on toast, speaking with his mouth full.

"Honestly, Dad, you eat worse than a teenage boy and gossip worse than mum."

"Oh ho, no reason to get mean, girlie."

Hermione stared at her father other the rim of her class as she drank her orange juice. She would be starting classes in Cambridge come October first, and though she would never tell them, she feared she would miss her parents terribly. Never one to mix well with children her own age, she found she got along very well with her parents, and was worried she had grown too dependent on them through the years. Always the good daughter, never the rebellious teenager, never staking out her own way.

Her musings were interrupted the the sound of a crash from the kitchen, only a few yards from their table.

"Goddamn it, Potter! What is it with you? Why do you keep dropping shit?" A loud, obnoxious voice shot from the back.

" Frank, call me crazy, but I think I saw you stick your foot out on purpose." Harry's much quieter voice, but closer to the door, could barely be heard.

"What did you say? Are you accusing me of something? God, I should have listened to your uncle when he said that you're an irresponsible shit. Shoulda fired you when I came here."

A long pause, then, standing in order to hear better, moving a little closer to the door, Hermione heard Harry say, " ….been here for two years now, the other management like me, you can't just fire me because my uncle doesn't like me and he's your Dad's boss, Frank."

"Just see what I can do, Potter. Why don't you pack up for tonight?"

"Come on now, I can't do that, I said I would take up Mary's shift too. Let's just be reasonable about this…"

"You aren't going to get out when I tell you?" Frank's voice, which had been getting progressively louder, could be heard throughout the restaurant now, people craning their necks to look at the kitchen door.

" I think that if you just stay calm and think..."

A few seconds, and suddenly the kitchen door slammed open and Harry came stumbling backwards, running into Hermione, and both fell on the floor. The swinging kitchen doorway showed flashes of who could only be Frank, looking both red faced with anger and a little shocked. A few customers were standing now, and it was dead silent in the restaurant.

Hermione's dad stood up and rushed over to them. "Are you both alright?" Both nodded and Hermione's dad headed over to the kitchen door, pushing it open and walking in saying, "Did you just attack that young man? Did you just violently shove your employee? I'll have you know…"

The rest of her father's speech went unheard as Hermione, who had fallen on her bum, stared down at Harry, who had fallen completely over, his head resting on her lap, the top half of his back on her legs. "Are you alright?" They asked each other, as Harry rolled off of her and they stood up.

"I'm fine, Harry. Did that man really just shove you?"

"I'm alright, really. It's nice of your dad to go in there and yell at him, but I don't want to cause too much trouble for the other management," Harry said, while rubbing his elbow and grimacing.

"So, I'd like not to file a report or anything," He said, watching her with careful eyes, which, even in the dim lighting of the restaurant, seemed to glow a little, catch some hidden light. He was breathing heavily, and even though he was asking to not report Frank, Hermione could still see that he was angry, his hands shaking as he picked up her jacket.

Out of her pocket fluttered down her leaf, more maroon in the Winchester's lighting. Harry bent to pick it up too, his hands still shaking.

The leaf, pinched between his two fingers, turned an ugly shade of bright green before it burst into a short lived flame. All that remained was the wispy skeleton of the leaf, which floated softly down to the carpeted floor. Harry and Hermione stared down at it in shock. Slowly they turned their heads and looked up at each other.

Harry opened and closed his mouth, looking like a fish, searching for something to say.

Hermione stared at him, her face changing from shock to amazement, to a strange kind of triumph.

"It's okay, Harry, you don't have to explain. I can do that too."

"Wh..what?" Harry stared, uncomprehending.

Dr. Granger burst back out of the kitchen, scowling. "I tell you Harry, if he fires you I will never return to this restaurant. I can not believe that he became physical with you, you have every right to call the police. That man... I have half the mind to call the police myself, the way he spoke of..."

"That's okay, Dr. Granger. I'd rather not call the police. Perhaps if you could stay till Lauren gets here, in say, a half hour? I could use some support defending myself against Frank."

"Of course, Harry."

"Harry, me boy, we'll stick aroun' too, say wha' we heard."

"Yeah, lad, we won't let that wanker fire ya." The older men at the bar called over.

"Thank's everybody!" Harry called, looking around the restaurant and getting a bit red in the face, noticing how everybody still staring over at them. "Please continue to enjoy your meal!" The restaurant patrons started up, muttering, and eventually everyone started to make conversation again.

Harry stepped back and accidently stepped on the remains of the leaf. His head snapped back to Hermione, who was still wearing a small smile on her face.

"Now doesn't seem like a good time to be talking about this. Could I give you my number? You could call me later. Please? I would really, really like to, no, I need to talk about it." Hermione's smile changed as she spoke, a sort of pleading expression making the corners of it tight.

"I, yes, though, I don't really know what you are talking about." Harry was looking to the left of her face, frowning.

Hermione reached down into her purse, pulled out an ever present notebook and pen, tore out a piece of paper, and wrote her number, all while saying, "The leaf Harry, what you did to the leaf. Though perhaps not exactly, I have done similar things. Don't tell me that was the first time something of that sort happened?"

Harry took her number, looked at it, folded it, and slipped it away into his server's apron. Glancing into her eyes, he said, frowning still, "No, I suppose it's not." He was looking very serious now, staring at her with curiosity and the edge of something else that looked like suspicion. "I don't think that I will be able to call tonight, Hermione, what with everything. But maybe tomorrow, possibly in the afternoon?"

Dr. Granger kept glancing between them, noting their serious faces.

"Yes, tomorrow afternoon would be perfect Harry, thank you."

"Not to interrupt young people exchanging phone numbers, but I'm afraid I don't understand. What did Harry do to a leaf? Why do you need to talk about it?" Mr. Granger smiled at them, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Oh, don't worry about it Dad, it's just a kind of slang."

* * *

He hadn't called. Hermione couldn't believe it. Yesterday she felt like she was buzzing. She couldn't wait to talk to him about it. Someone else doing something blatantly odd, something like she could do. But there he was, someone she had known for years, in the most ordinary of places. She sat in a daze the rest of the day. She hardly listened as her father and the men at the bar defended Harry against Frank to another manager, Lauren. Instead she stared at Harry, at his hands, at his eyes, wishing they could talk about it right away.

She only managed to mutter a hello to her mother at dinner, her father excusing her absentmindedness as being on a high from successfully giving her number to Harry. Her mother gasped and clapped her hands, but then went on to express her concern at the bad timing, seeing as Hermione was going to leave for school soon. Hermione could only shrug. Somehow she wasn't worried. This was much more important than a date, she would have to continue to talk to him, somehow. She couldn't pay much attention to the ballet later that night either, the swirling figures only in the edge of her mind, her focus elsewhere.

When she got home, she went up to her room after thanking her parents and wishing them a good night. From one of her bookshelves she pulled out a thin, blank covered, black notebook. She had started writing in it when she was 13, recording every time she had what she called an Odd Moment. The time she made Emma Smith trip in the hallway after she had called her a buck-toothed troll. The time she woke up in a fever, very thirsty, and the glass of water on her desk floated over to her. These moments and so many more over the years were recorded in her blank book. It seemed to Hermione that they were picking up frequency over the years as well. But this was her first time writing about someone else's Odd Moment. She wondered if he kept a notebook too, if he was as curious and excited to learn more as her.

But apparently not, Hermione thought bitterly to herself as she lay in bed the following night. She had waited on pins and needles by the phone all day, snapping at her parents if they were on the phone too long. At first they thought it was cute, but as the day went on without phone call from him, her parents started to worry too. Hermione didn't put herself out there too often, it was disappointing that she was apparently being rejected.

There was a knock on her door, and her mother entered without waiting for a response. She shuffled over, in an old t-shirt and jogging bottoms, and lied down on the bed next to her. Her mum smelled like how she always did at night, cloth and toothpaste and skin. The smell was so much her mother's, Hermione couldn't help but roll on her side and face her. "Oh, sweetheart, don't look so glum. Maybe something unexpected had come up, you never know. Even if that isn't the case, it's his mistake that he didn't take the opportunity to talk to such a catch." Her mother squeezed her hand.

"Thanks Mum, don't worry, I'm not exactly heartbroken or anything. Just...mostly frustrated, I guess."

"Oh me too! I admit I am surprised, I thought for sure he would call. He always flirted a little at the restaurant. I mean servers can be that way sometimes, I suppose, but he didn't really behave that way with other guests, even young pretty ones. I thought for sure…." Her mother sighed and patted her hand again.

"I'm going to watch Pride and Prejudice again, if you'd like to join me for some comfort watching?"

"That sounds nice Mum, let's do."

* * *

Still feeling a bit dejected the next day, Hermione didn't think much of answering the phone as she was heading to the kitchen for lunch. She couldn't help but feel a volt of surprise and excitement as it turned out to be Harry.

"Hello, uh, this is Harry, Harry Potter, from the Winchester. Um, Is this? Uh, is Hermione there?"

"Yes, it's me Harry. I, I wasn't sure you were going to call. I thought you were going to call yesterday?"

"Ah, yes, sorry about that. I couldn't get to a phone yesterday, I'm afraid. The restaurant fired Frank, and Frank knows my Uncle, so he tattle on me to him. My uncle never believes anything I say, so he just assumed I got his family friend fired for no reason. And, well, he wasn't pleased. Anyway, I got out and am calling from a pay phone. So sorry if my call ends short, I'm not sure how much change I have."

"That's okay Harry, I'm glad you managed to call! I really do want to talk about the leaf. You mentioned having done stuff like that before, right? Well, I have been keeping a journal since I was 13 about all these, what I call, Odd Moments. Things like changing this ugly colored sweatshirt to a nicer color, and floating or pulling things to me. Do you have a notebook? Do you remember anything like that?"

"Really? You did those things too? I'm…I always thought. My family has always said that I was…,well, I just can't believe you do things like that too. I haven't kept a journal or anything. Uh, I do remember stuff pretty well, I mean, you tend to remember things like this right? You know, like this time I turned this nasty substitute's hair blue, or another time I appeared on the school roof, that was the craziest thing I've done, I think. But! Um, just last week though, Frank had tripped me again and when I fell, I think I stopped all the glass from breaking. I mean, they just seemed to pause before they hit the ground."

"That's amazing, Harry. This is amazing. I never thought… I'm so excited. Maybe there are more of us? Maybe there are a lot of us and we all just think that we are weird? I dunno, I tried to talk to some friends about it in secondary school, at first they thought it was cool. They liked things like witchcraft, you know the type, wore too much black, were rude to their parents. But after a while, after they saw me accidentally break a glass, they became scared. They started to avoid me. I was very disappointed, because they were the first friends I had ever...Oh, why am I saying all this. The point being, I think that we should meet and try to do these Odd Moments on purpose. I haven't ever actually done anything intentionally, it was always an accident. How about you Harry? I mean, when you appeared on the school roof, did you mean to?" Hermione paused and listened to the dead silence on the other end for a few moments before putting her against the wall with a thunk and hanging up. She pressed 14713 and listened to the phone ring, muttering to herself.

"Oh drat, I forgot. I can't believe I went on for so long, I wonder how much he heard. How embarr…"

"Hello? Hermione?"

"Yes. I'm terribly sorry, I went on a bit of a rant. What is the last thing you heard?"

"You were suggesting trying to do these Odd Moments together. I mean, we can try, can't we? I've never done it on purpose, but perhaps we can make something happen."

"Yes, let's try. When can you meet? I can anytime before October 1st, I'm leaving for school then."

"Ah, you're leaving for school? So soon too, that's...good. Where are you going?"

"Cambridge."

"Oh wow, Cambridge. I did always peg you for the smart type."

Hermione tried not to read too much into that. Smart types usually meant hopelessly nerdy looking. She frowned and pushed her bushy hair behind ear. "Yes, well. When would you like to meet?"

"Oh uh, how about Friday? I don't work that day this week. How about, let's say, three? We can meet at the park by Winchester, if that works for you?"

"Yes, that's perfect Harry. See you then!"

"Yes, see you."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Hermione left the tube station and started walking towards the park. She had spent the two days between when Harry and her talked and when they were suppose to meet to go through her notebook and categorize the Odd Moments as much as possible. It took a surprising amount of time. She first separated the instances by if what occurred had something in common. The color changing moments where put with color changing moments, floating objects put with floating objects and so on. Then she recategorized by emotion. Was she feeling happy in this moment, surprised, angry? Next, she categorized by how tired she felt afterward. Then she made a list of Odd Moments, by date, and which categorizes applied to each. She hoped that all this would be helpful, maybe they could find a pattern when matched with Harry's moments.

As she approached the opening of the park, she started to get nervous. What if he wasn't there? He had taken his time to call her. She suddenly imagined Harry and some faceless mates all laughing at her over some drinks. Harry telling them what she had said, how he had played along with it, calling her a crazy bint as his friends and cruelly laugh. She slowed her pace, frowning. No, Harry didn't seem the type to say things like that. She had no reason to think he would say something like that, plus she was the one who saw him do something odd, not the other way around. Hermione took a breath and started forward again, her heart still pounding with anxiety.

She turned to the corner and faced the entrance of the park. It was a little cooler today. It had rained earlier, and she had carried a small umbrella, the handle hooked over her arm as she walked. The park was surrounded by a stone wall, an open wrought iron gate showing a path lined by gently swaying trees, their colors changing earnestly now, looking like flecks of paint scattered over a green canvas. Harry was already there, standing with his back against the stone wall, near the gate. He looked a little hunched, his hands in his pockets, his face somber. Hermione was struck suddenly with an image of a brooding Darcy standing beneath a tree.

A gust of wind picked up, blowing at Hermione's back as she walked closer. Harry made eye contact with her, just as the wind blew past him, shifting his messy locks up, revealing a strange scar on his forehead she never really noticed before. It was almost like a lightning bolt in shape. Her eyes moved down to his, which seemed in this moment so serious, she felt her anxiety slip away, slowly being replaced by a different swelling emotion. This emotion rose higher, feeling like it was coming from her toes until it pushed at her throat. It made it both harder to look at him standing there, with his wind shaped hair, bottle green eyes, and serious face, and impossible to look away.

"Hello, Harry."

"Hello. Seems today's weather isn't great for a walk in the park, but at least it's stopped raining. And I see you at least thought to bring an umbrella." Harry moved started moving towards the gate, Hermione falling into step.

"The weather forecast says it's suppose to be done for the day, but you know how accurate those are."

There was an awkward silence. It had seemed easier over the phone. They walked for a while, with only the sound of the breeze through leaves and the distant laughter of children breaking the silence.

"I have a notebook," Hermione started abruptly. "I mentioned it before. I have been keeping track of my Odd Moments for years. This last couple of days I have tried organizing them into different categories. Perhaps we could go over some of my notes together, see if anything matches with your experiences?"

Harry looked down at her with a small smile, and Hermione, for all of her initial staring, just noticed a bruise on the underside of his jaw.

"What happened there?" Hermione said, pointing. Harry glanced away, shrugging.

"Nothing interesting. So, you categorized all of your notes? Years of notes? That must have taken some time. I'm sorry, I didn't come nearly as prepared. I see how you got into Cambridge, though." His tone was light, only a little teasing. Hermione felt herself relax a little.

"I didn't expect you to have anything prepared, don't worry. It's just in my nature to approach things this way. Maybe we could find a dry bench, you could look over some stuff, tell me what you think?"

Harry nodded, leading them down a small side path towards a gazebo without much attention, giving the impression he had walked this path many times. They sat down at a picnic table, Hermione pulling out her notebook and note cards from her bag and giving them to Harry. Hermione bit her lip, watching him look through her notes, feeling very exposed. She never had shown these to anyone before, and some of the stories where an Odd Moment happened were truly embarrassing. She had thought about censoring the notebook, but decided against it. What if a story she left out turned out to be important?

She watched his face for a smirk or for laughter in his eyes, but his face never broke out of his look of concentration.

About a half hour later, Harry sighed and looked intently at her. "I think some part of me believed that you were pulling a prank of some sort on me. That you would show up at the park and talk to me, and your friends would pop out of the bushes and have a good laugh at what a freak I am. But I think it's starting to sink in that you aren't joking." Harry thumbed her notebook, looking at it almost tenderly.

"It seems to me that me and you haven't ever done exactly the same thing, but many similar things. I have also made people trip in the hall, and have changed the color of things in the way you have. The most common thing, though, I think, is that every time these Odd Moments happen, they seem to be driven by emotion. Like, wanting, or willing something to happen, but not consciously, just desperately wishing that it would happen. Or sometimes it seems just from raw emotion, without much thinking involved at all."

"So you always had strong emotion attached to your moments, too? I'm not sure how we can recreate that though. I mean, it isn't like every time I get upset I have an Odd Moment. I think the feelings have to be pretty strong." Hermione thought to all her unnessarily carefully organized notes, sitting neglected next to Harry.

Harry nodded, looking thoughtful. "Maybe if we concentrate enough,knowing what we know, knowing that something might happen, it will." Harry stood up and pulled off a leaf from a nearby tree. "Let's try to change this, I guess, to a bright red color?"

Hermione nodded, feeling doubtful, but not having any better ideas. She and Harry stared at the leaf uncomfortably for a few minutes, sometimes glancing at each other and smiling a little. Hermione opened her mouth to suggest that touching the leaf might help when she heard snickering behind her. She turned in her seat, her mouth falling open further to see Emma Smith and her friends standing at the lip of the path leading into the gazebo clearing.

"Will if it isn't Granger. Are you on a date? Did you bring a book on your date, God, Granger, really?" She and her friends laughed, looking at the notebook spread on the table. "No, no, this is my mistake. Of course this isn't a date. Who would date you? No, are you helping him study?" She looked over Hermione's shoulder to Harry, adding, "Sorry, didn't mean to insult your tastes there."

Hermione could only stare in disbelief. She had to show up now? She thought that she'd seen the last of her, mercifully, finally, only for her to show up now, in front of Harry of all people. The injustice of it made her throat close and angry tears form in her eyes. And what Harry must think of this, her becoming frozen because of witless comments from silly girls. Hermione's hands clenched into fists.

"Of course we're on a date. The real question is why are you interrupting it? Another important on is, would you kindly stop?" Harry snapped from behind her, his voice low and angry. The girl's smiles dropped. A girl to Emma's left scoffed and moved forward, but Emma threw out an arm, stopping her.

"Terribly sorry, I suppose I do mean to insult your tastes then. Have just tons of fun on your thrilling date." Emma turned around, moving her friends back down the path, saying something that made them laugh as they left, glancing over their shoulders.

Hermione watched them go, then turned back around towards Harry, who looked a bit more pink in the face than the chilly air warranted. Hermione, not once in her whole life, had someone stand up for her. Relief, a happy kind of disbelief, painful in its fragility, filled her chest was was now rising, past her throat, to her eyes, feeling like it went down the the last curls of her hair, to the tips of her fingers. She reached out, almost unthinkingly, and touched the leaf on the table, which changed like watching a time-lapse of a blooming flower, into a single large bright red azalea.

* * *

Harry had work the next day, but they could meet the day after, Sunday night. They left the park as nightfall was encroaching, Harry staring at Hermione as they walked. Hermione kept glancing at him, wishing he would stop staring at her like that. She held the azalea between her hands, protecting it from the wind, which had started to pick up more. They walked to the mouth of the tube station entrance, Harry slowing down and stopping, his hands once again in his pockets. "I have to take the bus back to Surrey. Will you be alright, getting home?"

"Yes, my parent's house is close to the underground. Um, here, this is for you, really." Hermione held out her hands, still cupping the azalea, feeling very awkward. But she had to give it to him, she had made it for him in the first place, from pure feeling. It seemed wrong to take it herself.

"Uh, thank you." Harry took it very carefully from her hands, cupping the flower in between his. He looked down at the flower for a long moment and then back up at Hermione, his eyes somber once more, trailing around her face, searching. Looking into her eyes, he said softly, once again, "Thank you, truly." There's a long moment, neither looking away, neither wanting to leave. Hermione felt the sudden urge to move toward him. She snapped out of it.

"So, see you Sunday Harry. Get home safely." Hermione took a step back, waving. Harry glanced down at his watch, frowning.

"See you, Hermione. You too, get back safely."

Hermione nodded, finally, reluctantly turning her body and walking down the stairs to the tube, wanting more time with him, and suddenly, sadly, realizing that it will be more difficult when she heads off to school, which was coming rapidly closer.

* * *

Hermione had gotten home from the park after nightfall, her parents were setting up for dinner. They heard her come in, Hermione knew, because the sounds of her mother's voice and her father's occasional, minimal input and the clatter of plates and utensils stopped. Her mother burst through the kitchen door, her eyes already wide with curiosity as she bustled down the hallway.

"Well? How was it?" Hermione hadn't even gotten her coat all the way off. She wondered how she should respond. Her mother was expecting one of three responses, it was bad and he was a berk, it was really awkward, or a girly giggle and blushing. But Hermione felt none of those or anything close to it. She felt more like crying, or sitting down on the floor where she stood and laughing, so intense were her feelings of relief. Instead she finished hanging up her coat and gave her mother a smile that felt like it came from the tip of her toes.

"It went very well. We're seeing each other again Sunday."

Her mother clapped her hands together once, her expression startled, her eyes wide, but a split second later covered it with a happy smile.

"Ohhh, that's good. You will have to tell us all the details, dinner's almost ready." Her mother clasped her arm and pulled her towards the kitchen, where her father was stirring curry.

"Charles, she said it went well." Her mother sent her father a look only people that have been together a long time can give, saying much with little.

"Very well," Hermione added, sliding into her chair at their small wooden table, a little worn from years and years of use.

Her father groaned, taking the curry from the burner and bringing it to the center of the table. "Very well? That definitely involves kissing then."

"Do tell all the details Hermione." Her mother put food on Hermione's plate, smiling.

"No, no don't tell us all the details, Hermione." Her father said, poking her mother.

"What Charles? It isn't unusual for a mother to wonder how her daughter's first date has gone." Her mother poked him back.

Her father poked her mother in the ribs saying, "No it's not, but I don't want a blow by blow of how good of a kisser he is, Liza." He feigned a shiver.

Her mother poked him twice in the shoulders, leaning out of her chair to get him harder. "Of course I don't want a blow by blow either, Char, but I still want to know what happened, Hermione looks really happy."

Charles poked Elizabeth in the stomach, and Elizabeth retaliated, their family dinner turning into Hermione watching her parents laughing as they stood up, trying to dodge each other's fingers.

Hermione slammed her spoon down, gaining her parent's attention. "You two are doctors! And ask yourself, is it more traumatising for parents to hear about their daughter kissing a boy, or for a daughter to witness her parents turning into flirting children?"

Her parents sighed and sat back down.

"What a wet blanket." Her father stage whispered to her mother, who nodded in wide eyed agreement. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Besides, Harry and I didn't kiss."

"Oh, then what was so nice about it?" Her mother asked, glancing at her father with one of those mysterious looks.

"It's hard to explain, but I just feel like we understand each other. We have something in common that I didn't think I had in common with anyone else. It's just...it's nice to know he's there." Hermione played with her food, her face a little pink, not looking directly at her parents.

"What is it that you have in common, sweetheart?" Her mother asked, carefully.

"Oh you know, just, um, just … you know, personality quirks and interests and things. I always find it difficult to get along with people my own age, but not Harry." Hermione glanced up at them from her food, her face pinker now. She hated lying to her parents. And while she wasn't technically lying, she was making a fairly large omission. Her Odd Moments, for all her closeness to her parents, weren't something she ever tried to share with them.

"Well, I must say, that sounds much nicer than a kiss, puppet."

"Yes, Hermione, friends are always a wonderful thing, kisses or no."

* * *

She saw him sitting at the back of the casual dining restaurant, the kind of place where you order food first and then sit down and have them bring it to you. Hermione picked it because she loved the pasta there, and it wasn't too formal or expensive. She noticed him right away, as if she knew where he would be sitting. He was slumped forward a little, elbows on the table, a dark look on his face as Hermione walked over after ordering. He didn't notice her until she reached the table.

"Hi Harry," Hermione said cheerfully as she pulled out her chair. He twitched a small smile, looking a little blank, his shoulders tense. There was a moment of silence, just as awkward as the last time they met.

"Um so, how…"

"Hermione, have you, have you…" Harry sighed, dropping his head in his hands, pulling his fingers through his hair. There was a grimace on his face.

"Ugh, god, Hermione have you ever had, uh, visions before?" The waiter came just at that moment, giving Harry a strange glance as she dropped off their food. Harry watched her go, tense and flushed.

"I don't fully understand. Like, priminations?" Hermione said softly, becoming concerned at how almost in pain Harry looked.

"No, I mean, just of other people, flashing lights? Sometimes it looks like people are making light with sticks, I don't understand them. I use to just see it when I fell asleep. I had a lot of nightmares when I was, I dunno, five or six? It was of a snake-like-man, I was the snake like man, and I, he, kept hurting people. Around seven or so, I mostly stopped having them. Just every once and awhile. My scar," Harry gestured towards his forehead, his voice become lower and quicker as he talked. "My scar hurts when I wake up. But ever since I turned seventeen, this last July, I started to see what he was doing while I was awake. This morning, I saw him enter a person's home, I saw him bring people forward. I don't know who they are, they were watching television, and he made them stand in front of him, he looked at their faces, he said, 'Where is Harry Potter?' The family, they looked confused and, and blank. They said they didn't know and he, I don't know what he said, but something, and a green light left his stick and I snapped out of it, Hermione, but I know that they were dead. And on the telly, they were watching the news. Hermione, they were watching the same news that my family downstairs were watching. I think, I think that it might be real. My scar hurt so much I thought I was going to throw up." Harry grimaced again, clapping his hands over his scar, letting out a hissing breath.

Hermione stared at him alarmed, a sinking feeling in her stomach. "Are you... seeing him now?" Hermione asked, her voice barely over a whisper.

Harry slowly pulled his hands away from his forehead, shaking his a head like he was trying to shake off water. "No, just flashes of things, flashes of feelings. He feels frustrated. I swear it looks like he is wondering around Surrey, but it could be anywhere, really. I think he just left." Harry glanced up at her, licking his lips, shifting in his seat. "Have you ever had something like this?"

Hermione stared at him in silence, her mind racing. Had she not seen him have an Odd Moment with her very own eyes, she might have thought that he was crazy. Maybe he still was, Hermione couldn't be sure.

But despite everything in front of her saying otherwise, she decided to believe him. After all, just the other day she turned a leaf into a flower, and most people would think that she was crazy if she told them that.

"No, I can't say that I have experienced anything like that, Harry."

Harry slumped even more, his eyes pleading."No? Nothing at all?"

Hermione shook her head.

"I had hoped...you changed the leaf and… but even then, even you...Maybe I am just really crazy. Maybe I really, truly am just the biggest freak to have ever lived. My family will feel vindicated, at least." Harry moved to get out of his seat.

"Wh...where are you going?" Hermione asked, worried.

Harry looked at her, his eyebrows raised. "I thought it best to leave, considering I just apparently had some sort of fit."

Hermione considered him for a moment, then surprised herself and him but barking out, "Oh, just sit down, would you?" Harry sat back down, his eyebrows raising further.

"You don't have to get all dramatic about it. Sure, head pains and hallucinations about a bad man who kills people to try and find you sounds fully loony. I mean, like full stop mad. But me and you, we know better. We know that there is something else at play here too. So don't march off to brood in the night, or what have you." Hermione took a bite of her cooled pasta, raising her eyebrows back at him.

Harry's face relaxed after a moment. He gave her a small smile, something opening in his expression that made Hermione's stomach flutter. "So, you think it might be related to the Odd Moments still?"

"Sure. After all, from our stories we know that me and you haven't done exactly the same things. So this is just something that you can do that I can't. Is there anything else like this?"

Harry looked uncomfortable once again, but not nearly as much as before. "Ah yes, and this is going to sound crazy too, but at least this time I can prove it to you."

* * *

Hermione and Harry were standing shoulder to shoulder in the middle of a pet store a few blocks away from the restaurant. Hermione noticed how pale he looked under the bald fluorescent lighting, the bruise on his jaw darker than the last time she saw him. There was an edge of a bruise visible by his collar bone as well, like an ink smudge of a thumb print.

"Can you see the red snake?" Harry was peering into the glass cage on the top shelf.

"No, actually."

Harry glanced down at her chuckling. "I guess I never noticed how short you are."

Hermione scoffed, "What, because you're so tall?" She nudged him with her shoulder, smiling.

Harry snorted. "No, I'm not. But pointing out that I'm not very tall, and me still being much taller than you just makes you very short and me average."

"Whatever, you aren't that much taller."

Harry grinned and shifted closer, his chest touching her arms, which were crossed over her own chest. "See, I'm nearly a head taller than you. 'You aren't much taller', you are stubborn, aren't you? It's like that time at the Winchester when you wouldn't admit to your dad that the soup was too spicy, even though you were red and sweaty."

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, looking up into his face, he staring down at her. Hermione was suddenly aware of how close he was standing, her retort forgotten, as they stared at each other.

Hermione coughed and asked, "Yes, well, about the snakes?" Harry froze a split second and then took a step backward, looking into the cages on the second shelf.

"R-right. Come look at this brown snake. Assuming you can see?" Harry asked, smirking.

Hermione nudged him with her shoulder again, looking into the cage. She started when she heard a strange hissing sound coming from Harry, his mouth moving minimally, his eyes unfocused, like he was in a trance. The sound he was making brought to mind something like scales sliding over cold grass in the dark. Hermione looked from Harry to the cage again, to see a snake staring back at him, focused.

"I'm going to tell him make a circle and nod his head three times. Watch to see if he does it." Again Harry made the sound, making Hermione shiver. Blinking away the strong image of the color green from her mind, she watched as the snake slowly, graceful, moved its body into position, and nodded it three times, it's eyes still focused on Harry, who was now silent.

Harry looked at her, his eyes once again hesitatingly open, captivating. Hermione smiled, her expression bright. "Wicked."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

They stood outside of the pet shop, shuffling their feet and glancing at each other. Harry finally said, "I should head back to Surrey, we actually aren't far from it here, which is nice."

"Oh, yes, I guess it is getting late. Harry... I have to head off to school in a few days. Before then I have to get ready, I'm going to be busy for awhile, I think. I really, really want to continue to see you and, and talk about the Odd Moments, of course." Hermione stared up into his face, feeling nervous. The risk of rejection momentarily hanging, suspended, between them.

Harry frowned, looking disappointed. "I keep forgetting you're going away to school. Or more like I just don't want to remember. But look, Cambridge isn't too far, is it? An hour or two by bus at most, right? I'll come visit you on my days off, on, on some of my days off." Harry cleared his throat, stuffing his hand into his pockets. "If you'd like, I mean?"

"That would be lovely Harry. I will also be back into town a lot, to visit my parents and things, so. Um, since I'll be living on campus, my parent's phone number won't be as useful. I'm not sure what my phone number there will be. Could I have yours?" Hermione reached into her bag confidently. He said he would visit her. Hermione had to suppress the unprecedented urge to giggle.

"Oh, uh, no, hmmm." Hermione snapped her eyes back to his, the confidence dissipating like steam into cold air.

"It's just that I plan on moving out of my relatives place as soon as possible. They are...we don't get along too well. They don't like it when people ring me." Harry frowned, thinking.

Hermione briefly felt relief, until her eyes once again glanced over the bruise on his jaw and collarbone, her mouth opening furiously, indignation and realization pushing words out of her mouth before she could fully think. "Harry, did your family give you those bruises?"

Harry stiffened, looking at her with wide eyes, eyebrows raised at her outburst. He face fell into a scowl, taking a half step back from her, he said harshly, "No. Don't worry about those. It's nothing."

Half of Hermione's brain was yelling at her to shut up already. But the other half, as well as her heart, swelled further in a wild, almost naive, disbelieving ire. She took a half step forward. "So what, you fell on to something that looked like a thumb, Harry?"

Harry's face shifted from a scowl into something carefully blank as he pulled his large shirt closer to his neck. He took a step toward her, staring into her eyes. His voice dripping with sarcasm, he said, "Yes, spot on Hermione, that's exactly what happened, very astute. Now, if you excuse me, I have to go back to Surrey, where I'm sure to fall on some more random objects. Though hopefully next time we can skip the commentary about it, yes?" He looked a second longer into her confused, hurt face, and took a step back, his eyes downcast. He put his hands back into his pockets, his face melting from blank into a sort of sorry expression. His voice was low, almost a whisper, "Sorry Hermione, I... just don't worry about it, okay? It really isn't as bad as you're thinking. And I'll be leaving shortly anyway, within the month, if things go as planned."

"You know I wasn't angry at you, of course, right? It's just not right, you know? You know that, don't you?" Hermione reached out slowly, taking his hand.

Harry gave it a small squeeze, giving her a weak half smile and a quick nod. He turned toward the road, his hand still wrapped lightly around hers. Hermione noticed that his hands were dry and warm, his fingers long, easily cupping hers. They walked in a slow pace down the street, their silence thick with unsaid things, towards the bus stop, rounding the corner to see a bright green snake coming out of a skull's mouth floating in the sky, like a ghastly flood light.

"What on earth...how awful. It's a little early for Halloween decorations, isn't it?" Hermione couldn't tear her eyes away from it, something about it seemed truly awful, it casted a creepy green pallor over everything, even onto where they were standing. Hermione felt Harry grip her hand tighter and looked up into his face. He looked very pale under the ghostly light. His eyes were fixed on the skull, his mouth slightly open. Hermione watched as recognition and horror settled into his features. Hermione's hair stood on end to see it.

"Hermione, it's his. I've seen this before, it's his."

"Whose?"

"The man I see, his mark, it's real. My scar, I've seen…" Harry trailed off, his face setting into determination. "Come on Hermione, I need to a closer look."

Hermione nodded and Harry started running towards the light, still gripping her hand tightly. Hermione trailed behind, trying to keep up. They crossed a street, climbing over a median, dashing in front of traffic, making it to the other side to the sounds of angry drivers, horns blaring. Harry ran on, uncaring. They sprinted down the street, rounding the corner, Hermione completely out of breath. Down the street the skull and snake hung over a house, which was surrounded by a mess of cars, ambulances, flashing lights strangely dulled under the the seemingly all encompassing eerie, ghostly green light. The light shone onto the quiet faces of neighbors, staring up at it as though hypnotized. Everyone was silent, huddled in groups, their mouths slightly open.

Harry and Hermione walked briskly over to them, glancing to the crowd, the light, to the house. Hermione kept switching her gaze from the skull to the house, medics and police officers standing around, moving in an unrushed way, as their co workers wheeled out four beds, the bodies covered in white sheets, almost glowing in the light. Hermione squeezed Harry's hand harder, feeling sick. She looked up at him now, surprised to see he wasn't looking at the bodies being pushed past, but into the house. He was staring intently into their living room window, frowning, looking impossibly paler. Hermione took a step back as they wheeled the bodies towards the doors of the ambulance which they were standing by. Harry took a step closer,letting go of her hand. His gaze shifted from the window to body in front of him, only a foot away. His face blank, his eyes unblinking, he lightly, with the tips of his fingers, pulled the sheet down off of the body's face.

Hermione gasped, her hand covering her mouth, looking at the wide eyed face of a young boy, maybe 12, his expression stuck into one of fear and shock. Hermione let out a small sob, backing further away from Harry and the body. Harry was still staring down into his face, bathed, as everything was, in the strange green light and silence.

Everyone started at once when, towards the back of the house a loud crack could be heard, like that of a car backfiring. They heard a strange sounds, almost like words, and the light from the skull and snake slowly faded away, becoming more and more indistinct until it was gone, leaving everyone standing in the shadows and lights of the street lights. There was another crack. A police officer standing by the door barked orders to someone inside to see what happened. Harry stepped back from the body, replacing the sheet. The crowd started talking again, loud gasps and speculation and fear filling the air.

Harry walked to Hermione, his face still so pale, his expression unreadable, his hands shaking. Harry croaked out as Hermione stepped closer, putting her hands on his elbows, "It's them. From this morning, I saw him kill them. I saw them."

Hermione gripped his arms tighter.

* * *

They sat on the swings in a park near Hermione's house in silence. Hermione tried to start and then stopped speaking several times. She pushed lightly against the ground, swinging a little, watching Harry's face in the dim light of the street light as he worked from stoic to scared to stoic again. Hermione couldn't take it anymore.

"You should tell the police. You know who murdered that poor family." Hermione voice was small and distant.

Harry sighed, leaning his head against the swing chain as he looked back at her. "Sure, I'll get right on that. 'Excuse me, officer, this morning I was at home, with my family, but in my head I watched everything happen. That family, they were killed by a bright green light made by the evil man I see sometimes. Wait, what, why are you putting me in that scary looking jacket?'" He was being sarcastic, but without any bite. Hermione nodded, heavy with knowledge she didn't have any idea what to do for the first time in her life.

Harry let out a long breath and then softly said, "I shouldn't see you anymore."

Hermione let out a small sound and stood up from her swing, a little frantic. "No, I don't want that."

"Hermione, he killed those people. He killed them while looking for me. I can't go to the police, I don't know who he is." Harry pulled his hand through his hair, his voice cracking, " I don't know what to do, why is he looking for me? Why can I see him? I don't know what to do." Hermione stood in front of him, leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Harry let out a few shaky breaths, rested his head against her stomach. His voice was more even, muffled, as he spoke, "The dreams I had when I was little were awful. They seemed so real and they hurt my head so much. My family thought I was crazy, that something happened to my head when my parents died, we were in a car crash, you see. But we all just thought they were strong nightmares." Harry let out a long shaky breath.

"But they weren't nightmares, they were real. All those people, god, all those people were real. This changes things Hermione. He is real and after me, and so, so dangerous. Look, now that I know that it's real, I know that what we can do is magic. The Odd Moments are magic. That's what the people with sticks call it. Magic. The sticks are wands, too. I wonder where they get them? That can be for you to figure out, Hermione, where they get wands. You're much smarter than me, anyway, you should be fine on your own, but you can't hang out with me. It's too dangerous."

Hermione curled her hands around his shoulders, speaking quietly but firmly. "No, I don't want to. You are my first friend Harry, I'm not just going to let you be hunted down by some monster. Besides, you are the only person I know who's had Odd.., who can do m-magic. I thought I was crazy, or a mutant, for years and years. I can't lose you now, just when I found you. Besides, you know more about all this than me now. Even though it looks very, very…scary," Hermione's voice cracked, her mind flashing back to the dead boy's face, "we can't turn back now, just when we starting to understand. Also, me being the only other person you know who can do...magic...I maybe the only one who can help you."

Harry pushed her back gently, standing and placing his hands on her shoulders. "He is after me Hermione. You don't know what he's capable of, the things I've seen him do. He isn't looking for you. I can't, I won't, put my first friend in danger."

Hermione stepped closer to him, wrapping him in a loose hug. Hermione felt his hand drop from her shoulders and move hesitantly to her back. "Will, what are we suppose to do Harry? I'm determined to not let you go off on your own to be hunted by some madman, and you are determined to go off on your own to get hunted down by some madman. I'm pretty stubborn Harry, as you already know. I think you should just give up and let me help you, in anyway I can. I'm already involved, I'm not going to let it go, so you let it go."

"Hermione….please," Harry started quietly.

"HERMIONE JEAN GRANGER! Is that you?!" Hermione pulled away from Harry, alarmed, staring open mouthed at her mother who was walking speedily towards them, her father trailing behind her.

Elizabeth Granger stopped in front of the two shocked teenagers, her hands on her hips, her face splotchy red. "Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, it is almost two in the morning! Do you have any idea how worried I was?"

Harry and Hermione stepped back further from each other, their hands dropping. "If you hadn't already finished school I would ground you, young lady. And Harry, I expected better from you! We've known you for years!"

Her father stepped in behind her mother, looking displeased with the young couple. Harry stammered out, "I'm sorry Dr. Granger, Dr. Granger, I hadn't realized how late it had gotten…"

"Mum." Hermione breathed out and flung her arms around her mother's middle. "Mom, please, please we need help. Harry needs help, we're so scared."

"Hermione, no, you can't involve them too. I already don't want you involved, let alone them." Harry yelled, pulling Hermione away from her mother, his face furious.

"Harry, what do you want me to do? He is going to kill you!"

"And what are your parents going to be able to do about it, Hermione?"

"Whoa, who is going to kill who? What's happening?" Charles stepped forward, yelling over their yelling.

Hermione stared Harry in the eye for a long moment, before turning back towards her parents.

"I would like Harry to stay with us for the next month, or until he can move into his apartment. His relatives abuse him."

Harry stepped back from Hermione, shocked and confused. He looked at the faces of the Grangers who were now all staring at him, one somber, one shocked and teary, and one with an odd mix of triumph and fear.

* * *

Harry was lying on the couch in the Granger's livingroom. The house was inactive except for the functioning of it, the ticking of the clock, the glowing light from the buttons of the VCR, the hum of the refrigerator down the hall. Harry tried taking deep breaths, tried to calm his nerves about being there at all against his better judgement. But if he had thought Hermione was stubborn, it was nothing compared to her parents. The force of all three of them together was impossible to change.

Hermione's parents sat him down on the couch and offered him tea and scones, even though it was two thirty in the morning. They asked him about his family. They hadn't been the first to ask about his home life, but they had been the first to offer to do something about it. They wanted to call the police, they wanted to get Harry legally out of the house. Dr. Granger (insisting that Harry call her Elizabeth) looked ready to hop down to the police station that very moment.

Harry had pointed out the time, and Dr. Granger (also insisting on Charles) said that they should wait until the morning to talk through everything. They hadn't gotten a lot of information on the walk home, despite Hermione's parents shooting off questions at rapid fire. But what they did learn was enough for them to take Hermione's request seriously.

Harry was mystified by this passion against his family. They would never be his favorite people, but they weren't that bad. He had heard of classmates, or seen on the news, children who had really been abused by their relatives. Broken bones, covered with bruises, whipped raw, or other worse things. The Dursleys were too lazy for any of that. They wouldn't want to pay him enough attention to do him actual harm. Dudley was the only one who ever did any real damage, and it had been ages since Dudley had been fit or smart enough to do anything to Harry. Since they went to different schools, Dudley had become a minimal threat.

There was even a period of time, sometime after he turned 11, that his aunt was bizarrely nice to him. She would look at him with wide eyes, sometimes sad, and convinced Vernon to put him up in Dudley's second room. She even bought him new glasses after Dudley sucker punched them off of his face one day. But then the next day he had somehow shrunk his uniform for Stonewall into something looking less like bits of elephant skin, which set his aunt off again. She didn't put him back in the cupboard, but she lost that sad look she would give him sometimes.

As he got older, his aunt just started to ignore him mostly, only occasionally biting out some order, or slinging out some insult about his hair. As his aunt started to ignore him more, his uncle started to pay him more attention. He became more critical, more controlling. And while Vernon wasn't exactly gentle with him as a child, he became rougher as he entered adolescence. But what was he suppose to do? The few times he was asked about his bruises, nothing came of it. What was there to report, really? So his uncle hit him every once and awhile, it wasn't so uncommon for parents or guardians to use physical punishments.

Besides, his uncle never could do much to him anyway. If he grabbed him for too long, he would send his uncle a jolt, almost like he had electricity in him. Vernon could only get a wild swing in here and there. Harry was excited to move away from his relatives and never speak to them again, but he didn't see what the big deal was. He supposed to people like the Grangers, who clearly loved their daughter and each other very much, his family seemed very wrong. They couldn't comprehend the idea of hitting any child, let alone Hermione, whom they adore. But Harry understood from a young age that the Dursley's didn't love him, he was just a freaky child underfoot, shoehorned into their lives. It's not like they would ever hit Dudley.

He sensed that the Grangers wouldn't accept that as an excuse, not that it mattered anyway. He wouldn't be heading back to the Dursley's and he wouldn't be staying here. That monster was coming closer and closer to where he lived. He would try to tell the Dursleys that they should leave, grab his things, and go. He didn't know where yet, but it was clear he couldn't stay there. He wouldn't stay with the Grangers either, despite Hermione's insistence. He didn't want to put them in danger. Especially not them. He had liked them since he had started working at the Winchester. They were kind and funny and clearly loved each other. Something about them radiated goodness.

Harry allowed a moment to daydream. He imagined waking up and eating breakfast with them. He imaged picking up his things from the Dursley's, Dr. Granger, either one, yelling at his aunt and uncle, telling them that they were never allowed to speak to Harry again. He allowed himself to imagine the warmth he would feel eating at their table, slowly understanding and learning about magic with Hermione, having them help move his things into his new flat, visiting Hermione up at Cambridge. Maybe they would have invited him around for Christmas dinner…

Harry clenched his fists, stopping his thoughts. He knew he had to leave, though he was so frightened, hesitating on the couch. He had to leave because he knew why he was frightened. The safety of the Grangers was just an illusion, an illusion he didn't want to be responsible for breaking. His stomach tight with fear, his mind racing with half started plans, Harry rolled off the couch and headed to the front door.

He touched the handle and seemed like it grew suddenly very hot. He let out a startled gasp. Behind him he heard Hermione's door open and close quickly and quietly. He spun around to see her at the top of the stairs, her hands on her hips. She made her way down the stairs, pulling him by the arm to the kitchen where she turned on the light. She look his hand and looked at it. It was only a little red.

She looked up into his face, her hair a storm of curls around her face, wearing a large t-shirt and exercise shorts as pajamas. She looked pale, worried and small in the light of the kitchen. Harry felt his stomach twist further.

"I can't believe that worked. I thought you might try something like this, and I really wanted a way to catch you at it. I guess this is how that want manifested. I'm sorry Harry, was it the door handle? Did it really hurt you?" She was looking back down at his hand again, lightly touching the redness of it.

"No, it's fine. It just surprised me more than anything." Harry didn't know what to say.

"I'm sorry for telling my parents your personal business like that." Hermione said quietly while staring down at his hand, still lightly clasped by her own.

"I have to go Hermione, I don't know what he is doing right now, I don't know where he is, or how he is even finding me, I can't stay."

Hermione nodded, letting go of his hand. She straightened her back, looking him in the eye. "It's like you think I'm not listening. But I am, Harry. I understand your worries, But they are only that, worries. You don't even know why this person is after you. You don't know anything at all, really. Neither do I. Doesn't it seem hasty to run off like that? You're panicking, you aren't thinking straight. I'm not going to lie and say I'm not scared too, but I just know it's better for us to stick together, I just know it Harry. What if you put us in danger by leaving? What if he tries to find us anyway? The restaurant know's we're friends, what if he tracks you down from there? You would just be abandoning me to him. Maybe, with both of us having magic, we can help each other? Did you think of that?"

Harry's heart was beating fast. What if she was right? Maybe he should stay, he wanted to stay. He started to feel weight leave his shoulders. He heart started to beat faster and faster, he felt, excited? Elated even, like he was closing in on something he had wanted to do for a very, very long time.

He could see a very plain white house, looking like all the others in the street, except the brass four on the front door. He was walking with long strides towards the front door. He flicked his wand and the door vanished. He was gliding up the stairs, he opened the first door. It was full of clutter and a broken down bed. No one was there. He moved towards the second door. Lying down on the bed was a large mound of a boy who looked nothing like the Potters. He felt a flash of intense frustration. He moved towards the bed, flicking his wand again, the boy flipped on to his back paralyzed except for his wildly darting eyes.

"Where is Harry Potter?" He looked into the boy's panicked, uncomprehending eyes. He swirled his wand above the boy and his eyes became glassy and unfocused. He asked again. Now, looking into the boy's eyes he saw the answers clearly. He wasn't here when he should be. He felt furious, suddenly, blindingly. He slashed his wand at the boy, an angry red light coming out. The boy was still paralyzed but his eyes bulged, his face turning red. He felt calmer to see his pain. Now his mood turned to curious. He had a suddenly flash of realization. He looked into the mirror the wall, looked into his own pale face, red eyes glinting in the dark. He looked into his own eyes, saw something else there. He felt a mix of sudden rage, understanding and triumph.

Harry gasped in air, he rolled over, trying to stand up but could only get to his knees before he was sick all over a wooden floor. He felt hands on his back. He heard people talking, loudly and softly and loudly again. He felt a wet towel on his face and neck. Catching his breath, he started to make out words.

"-hospital Charles, he just had a fit,"

"Of course, let me grab my jacket, it has-"

"Wait, Mom, Dad, just wait, I need to ask him-"

"We can talk in the car, Hermione. Right now we should go-"

"No, Mom, it's not what you think-"

"Hermione." Harry croaked out. Immediately everyone quieted. He shakily stood. Hermione and her dad helping him to a seat. He look up at Hermione's worried pale face.

"W-was it another family?" Hermione said after a few beats of silence, looking afraid to ask.

"Mine, it was my family, Hermione. I need to call. I-I need to go there now. They weren't dead yet. I need, I need to call the police, maybe they can save…" Harry knew it was too late, knew they were dead, even if he didn't see it. They would be dead by the time anyone could do anything. Dudley's face would be frozen that way in death, red eyes bulging. Harry ran to the sink and threw up again. He could feel Hermione touching his back, her hand clutching his arm. He could just hear her over his gasping breaths, whispering, "No...no, it's too horrible, no.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Things had progressed quickly, so quickly that Harry didn't fully comprehend what was happening, even as it was happening in front of his eyes. But he didn't need to, he only needed to continue to act. He needed to continue to stand in front of the Grangers, hand in hand with Hermione, only needed to feel the panic in his heart, only let it surge out in magic and let it swirl and burst with Hermione's to form a half sphere in front of them. Through the translucent shifting blue of their shield, he could see him, the monster, standing with his wand at his side, looking almost relaxed.

He couldn't think about how he should have left right after he threw up the second time. He couldn't think about how he knew that the monster knew where he was, but he had still lingered at the Granger's trying to help Hermione explain magic to her confused parents. The guilt was real, resting as a sickly substance in his stomach, but he had to focus on his panic. He knew from some instinct if he lingered too long on how they got here, his shield would become weaker in his remorse.

"Harry Potter. It is you, after all these years. You grew up to look just like your father. Except with your mudblood mother's eyes. I had watched them grow dark once, I shall enjoy watching them grow dark again. But first, I have use of you. Come with me, Harry Potter, the-Boy-Who-Lived. Put down your shield, and I shall spare these...people, their lives."

Harry could hear his heart pounding in his ears. He didn't know what to think. He had watched his mother's eyes grow dark? Then he had watched them die? They had died in a car crash, they had died...Did he kill them? I need to protect the Grangers, the monster made an offer, but he shouldn't trust it, he doesn't know…

"Don't you dare, Harry. Stay here. You can't believe him." Hermione hissed from behind his shoulder.

"Ahhh, the mudblood speaks. But it should not." The monster twitched his wand, a yellow light shot towards them, bouncing off the shield and hitting the wall, leaving a black mark. The monster let out a slow breath.

"Your shield is...remarkable, considering. But it will not last forever. Do not die a coward, Harry Potter. Do not die knowing you caused their deaths. You have a choice. I kill your friends and take you, or you leave with me willingly and I spare their lives."

"You talk a lot for a murdering monster. Are you going to continue your villain soliloquy or kills us already?" Hermione bit out from behind him, her voice unwavering.

Many things happened at once. The monster gave a soft smile of amusement and shot off a red light, which again bounced off the shield. Unlike last time, the shield made a deep sound of a gong and split, sparking away in a rapid retreat of blue light. The spell bounced towards the ceiling, which caught fire. The monster flung out his wand and yelled "Avada Kedavra." A bright green light went straight towards Hermione. Harry felt a calmness sweep over him as things seemed to slow down. He knew that light, he knew it. Seen it before. It was death, he was sure. He looked towards Hermione's face as the light grew closer, the steely resolve mixed with and then overcoming fear. He felt an intense affection in his strange calmness and smiled as he turned, putting himself between the light and Hermione, their hands still clasped. He felt its icy touch hit his back, then nothing.

* * *

He thought death would be quieter, somehow. Why did he think he was dead? He felt so light headed. He felt warm, but there was something cool on his forehead. He just wanted to go back to sleep, but he couldn't, there was too much noise.

He groaned in annoyance and the noise abruptly stopped, only to increase in volume a few breaths later. A spot of noise was closer, louder, it was making words, what…?

"Harry please, you have to get up, please wake up. I need you right now, please, please, please." It wasn't noise, they were voices, he knew that voice, it was…

"Hermione." The voices quieted again.

"Harry, oh god, Harry."

"Hermione." It was definitely Hermione, was she dead too? He wanted to check, but his eyelids were heavy.

"Ron." A deep male voice said after a beat of silence. He heard a slapping sound and a gruff huff.

"God, Ron, you have to make a joke right now?" He heard a younger female voice hiss out. He heard a faint snicker from somewhere further away and a muttered, "Sorry, sorry."

He felt Hermione put her hand in his. The warmth traveled up his arm, a little spark that allowed his eyes to slowly open.

Hermione was leaning over him, illuminated by a soft light on the wall behind her, which was covered in darkly patterned wall paper. She looked tired and pale, tears were in her eyes, but she still managed to give a watery smile. Slowly, more people started to stand behind her, looking down at him. He couldn't make out their blurry faces, but he saw a lot of bright red, which he thought must be their hair.

Hermione shifted and reached to get his glasses, putting them on his face. A crowd of red haired people came into focus behind Hermione. There was at least seven of them. Most of them men, two women, all wearing different facial expressions, except for what appeared to be twins, staring at him with identical small smiles, a strange light dancing behind their eyes.

"Hullo." Harry muttered, glancing at Hermione in confusion. He heard a chorus of hellos, greetings, and a 'just sparking to meet you" from the twins. He made eye contact with Hermione again. They had been doing something important. They had been at the Grangers. The Dursley had been…

Harry sat up, his eyes wide, staring at Hermione. Memories of the long last day came back, rushing towards him all at once. Bodies, monsters, the Dursleys, the Dursleys, no, the Grangers so confused, the monster standing before them, magic, a green light…

"I died." Hermione nodded, looking away, her lips shaking as she let out a long breath.

"Why am I not dead then?" Harry asked. looking at Hermione's sad face as she opened her mouth to answer, instead shaking her head, her hand finding his again.

She swallowed, and whispered, "I don't know. I don't know. You were gone, then you were back, all of sudden, breathing again. When the light hit you, you just crumpled, just fell over." Hermione let out a small sob. Harry moved closer, still looking into her face, grasping her hand tighter. "Then that man, that thing, fell over too, twitching. He screamed and there was a crack, and then he was gone."

Harry leaned in closer to Hermione and whispered, "Who are these people?"

She spoke quietly, but not bothering to whisper said, "They showed up a minute after he disappeared. They stopped the fire with their..wands. They grabbed you, me, and my parents and we...there was a strange, awful feeling of being shoved into something too tight, and then we were on a street. They told me this name, and this building appeared. My parents couldn't see it, I don't know where they are. They brought me and you up here and…"

"Here we are," Harry finished for her. She looked tired enough to fall over. They hadn't slept all night. Was it just yesterday that they saw that family? Just hours ago that the Dursleys… Harry stopped his thoughts, overwhelmed. He instead looked around at the red heads again. A voice right behind him, on the other side of the bed, spoke, causing Harry to jump and whip his head in that direction.

"We are the Order of the Phoenix, Mr. Potter. I'm sure you and…"

"Hermione Granger."

"Ms. Granger, have many questions for us. We have some for you as well. Hopefully we can help each other."

Harry stared up at the tall, older, severe looking women. Her hair was up in a tight bun, black but streaked liberally with white. Her face was unreadable, her lips a little pinched. Behind her were three people, standing or sitting in chairs scattered about that side of the dark room. A hardened, scarred man with a bizarre eye and woman with bright bubblegum pink hair who was holding the hand of a haggard, pale looking man. The woman smiled and gave him a small wink. The man stared at him with a strange intensity. Harry looked back up to the severe looking woman.

"The Order of the… Okay, okay. Uh, first…"

"Where are my parents?" Hermione interrupted, suddenly standing. Harry noticed that the red headed family behind her suddenly looked very grave, looked away from her, stuffing their hands into their pockets.

The severe woman's expression became, if possible, even more closed. In her calm tone she said, "Your parents have been obliviated and relocated for their own safety. After ... peace….is restored, you may see them again."

Hermione stared at her, confused and scared and angry. Harry watched as anger won over the other feelings, her face hardening.

"My parents have been obliterated?" Hermione spoke through her teeth. Harry stood up slowly, standing next to her.

"Oblivated. It is a charm to make people forget things. Your parents believe that they never had a daughter and are planning to move to Australia very soon. They will be catching a plane any minute now, in fact."

"Au...Australia? Forget they have a daughter? W-Why? Why?" Hermione swung around to look at the family behind her, who all avoided her sharp gaze. Harry stepped up to the bed, glaring at the woman now.

"Are you with him? That monster? Why are you doing this?" Harry snapped out, his voice getting louder as he spoke.

"I assure you, Mr. Potter, that we are not 'with him.' That monster is why we are doing this." Hermione turned back around and stared at the woman along with Harry. "That monster is named...V-Voldemort." She grimaced, it was the first emotion Harry had seen on her face, and it was quickly brushed away. He heard quiet gasps and choking sounds from the family behind them. "His name is cursed, so do not say it. It was a risk saying it just now, even here. Call him You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He is an evil wizard, who hates you and your kind. We fight against him. Or we use to. Now we aim to protect those who are left. We are trying to protect you and your parents, Ms. Granger. Think of it as…" The woman paused a long moment as though looking for the right words. "Think of it as the Magical Witness Protection Program?"

Harry and Hermione were silent. Harry suddenly felt how surrounded they were by all these people. Glancing around the room he realized that there were no windows, and the man with the strange eye was blocking the door. He moved closer to Hermione, grabbing her arm.

"We don't know you all, so why are we still here? Why wouldn't you just obliv… make us forget too, and go with Hermione's parents to Australia?"

"We can't do that Mr. Potter. You and Ms. Granger are magical."

"So? We will go be magical in Australia."

"You-Know-Who can also go to Australia. He is after you, no?"

"F-fine, but what about Hermione, why isn't she…"

"Because we need her here. And we especially need you here, Mr. Potter." Harry started to feel the chest tightening feeling of dread return to him again.

"You aren't going to let us go, are you?" Hermione's voice was only just above a whisper.

"I'm afraid not, Ms. Granger, no."

* * *

That night, Harry remembered death the way that daydreams come into being. The thoughts were already half there, floating in his subconscious. It felt almost like he was making it up, but he knew he wasn't. Daydreams didn't feel like death, the way this one did.

He remembered coming into being in the Winchester of all places. It was clean. Too clean. The kind of clean that Lauren, the night manager, wished that it would look like at the end of the day. Harry went to sit at the table that the Grangers always sat at, the same table where they would have their staff meetings. Harry felt relaxed, probably more relaxed than he had felt in his entire life. He no longer tasted vomit in his mouth, his clothes didn't smell of smoke, and there was no ache in his head, not even a little, as it seemed there always was. He felt like he was waiting for someone, but he wasn't sure who. He didn't mind and leaned back into his chair, not focusing on any one thing in particular.

Staring at the ceiling, his head resting on the back the chair, he heard a strange sound from behind the bar. He lightly got to his feet and walked over, leaned over the edge, glancing curiously, but without urgency, for the source of the sound.

He recoiled in disgust, pushing away from the bar, breathing heavily. It was a creature, humanoid, but terrible. It looked almost like a warped, raw baby, but with a hideously old face. It looked to be in great pain, the strange sound Harry had heard was its brief short gasps and mewls of agony. Harry heard the bell on the door ring as it opened, he snapped his head around to look, moving further back from the bar. He felt strangely guilty. Like he didn't want anyone who was coming in to think that he had anything to do with the creature behind the bar.

Despite his disgust and guilt with the creature, everything still felt calm. This was only a small matter. When his year nine English Literature teacher came into view, walking down the steps of the half level, he felt only vaguely surprised. Mr. Alberic gave him a small smile and gestured towards the table.

"Don't worry about that poor thing, Harry, there is nothing you can do for it." His voice was as smooth and calming as Harry remembered it being. His grey eyes still crinkled at the corners, his tan skin still made his teeth look impossibly white by comparison. Harry sat down and stared at him for a while.

"I've really missed you, Mr. Alberic, you know."

"And I you, Harry."

That sat in an unrushed, companionable silence for a time, until the creature made another light gasping sound. Harry looked towards his teacher and asked, "Do you know what it is?"

Mr. Alberic adopted a thoughtful face, looking mildly puzzled. "It is a warped soul. I have seen a few, but this is beyond anything I have encountered before. I cannot imagine what this person has done, but it clearly wasn't good."

Harry felt thoughtful as well. Maybe the monster had somehow died with him? He wasn't sure, that didn't seem entirely right.

"What is this place?"

"I am not sure what you see."

"The Winchester."

"Really? That is strange. But we all see different things."

"What do you see, sir?"

Mr. Alberic just gave him another small smile and shook his head. "What did I say about calling me sir, Harry? It isn't important what I see. What you need to know is that this place is temporary. You must decide to go back, or to go forward."

"Sorry, sir, um, A-Amaro. What is forward?"

"Ah, that is for me to know, and for you to find out."

"I can go back? Back to life?"

"Yes, this is rare, but not unheard of."

"Will I be a ghost?"

Amaro Alberic chuckled, "No, Harry. You will just go back and continue forward from there, rather than from here."

Harry nodded, thinking. It felt very nice here. If Mr. Alberic was from wherever he could go next, it was probably a nice place. Maybe he could even see his parents. He doesn't even know what they look like. That would be nice…

But Harry sighed. He knew he had to go back. He had left everybody in quite a lurch. And while it would be nice to see his parents, it wouldn't be right to leave them there. Besides, he wouldn't be able to see Hermione. It felt important to go back to her, it felt like he needed to learn something important from her, something only she could teach him.

"Will, Harry, I think you know what you will do. I'm sorry, by the way, that I got distracted and didn't help as I should have. It was good to see you again."

Harry felt puzzled. "What do you mean, didn't help me? And it was good to see you too, sir."

Mr. Alberic snorted and reached over, ruffling his hair.

"Amaro, Harry, Amaro, for the last time."

Harry laughed, "Maybe a few more times, Mr. Alberic."

Amaro rolled his eyes and gave a small wave, as Harry suddenly heard just so much noise, he thought death would have been quieter…

* * *

Harry turned away from his thoughts and looked at Hermione, who was sitting on the foot of the bed, while he rested his back on the headboard. There was another bed he hadn't noticed until the room emptied against the wall, but Hermione hadn't made a move towards it, even though she looked exhausted.

They had sat in silence as it slowly sunk in that they were being held captive. After the severe women's admission, the red headed mother burst out in a flurry of guilt. She tried to tell them that it wasn't like they were being held hostage, or that they were kidnapped. They just had to stay awhile. In this room, just this room, until they trusted them more.

At Harry and Hermione's angry stares, she looked highly uncomfortable and started to shoo everyone out, promising and then giving them warm soup, bread, cheese, water and juice. Leaving the food on a bedside table, she told them to get some sleep and that they would all talk more later. Before she closed the door, she cast one more look of guilt towards Hermione, and then a long, wide eyed look at Harry that he didn't really know how to interpret.

The food remained untouched on the table, Harry and Hermione sitting in silence, lost in their thoughts. Harry cleared his throat.

"When I died, I met my year nine English teacher."

Hermione looked around at him, a little open mouthed, obviously confused.

"What?"

"He had died as I was starting year 10. He had rapidly moving aggressive leukemia. He was diagnosed and then died within 3 months."

"Oh, that's… And you saw him? When you died?"

Hermione's face was still very open, even in exhaustion. She was obviously wondering why he would see his teacher, of all people, when he died.

"Maybe I couldn't see my parents because I don't know what they look like? I'm still not sure that what I am remembering is real. But, maybe I saw him, thought of him, because he was… He was the first person who cared. He helped me a lot, just with everything. He thought that I was bullied, because of the bruises. He didn't pressure me about it though. He just would offer to eat lunch with me in his classroom, or made me try to enter essay contests. He helped me join the football team, and he got me the job at the Winchester. Lauren is his niece. Before him, I was just sort of floating along. He made school a place for me to be part of something. When he found out that I wasn't necessarily being bullied at school, he was furious. He was going to report my uncle the next day, though I don't think that there was really a lot to report on. But then he received the news about his health that night, and, well, there were more important things to worry about."

Hermione was staring at him with watery eyes. Harry realized that she was going to burst into tears just before she actually did. He stared at her in panic. He moved down to her end of the bed and patted her on the shoulder, feeling immensely awkward.

"It was, of course, very sad Hermione, but it was a few years ago, and I'm still close with his family, he's well loved and remembered still… Um, so, there, there."

Hermione, face red and glistening with her tears, just shook her head and wrapped her arms around him tightly. She sobbed into his shoulder, taking deep gasping breaths. As Harry rubbed her back, it dawned on him that she was probably crying for more than Mr. Alberic.

* * *

Harry felt a strange tickle on his noise. He tried to brush it away, but it just kept coming back. He finally opened his eyes in annoyance and realized it was hair, an abundance of light brown curly hair.

Hermione was asleep on his chest, dried tear tracks still visible on her cheeks in the dim lighting. They had fallen asleep while Hermione cried, leaning against him. Harry felt his heart beat speed up, seeing her there, but he couldn't, wouldn't, move her. She needed sleep. He also just didn't want to.

Hermione had always been a bit of a dream for him. Pretty, smart, nice girl from a well off family of doctors. They were always nice to everyone, even to him, who was just their server. But despite some mild flirting, he supposed that they would always be from different worlds, at that would be it.

But they weren't from different worlds. They were very much from the same one. The only other person from his planet he had ever met. In just under two weeks she had gone from acquaintance to kinsmen, from stranger to of the same tribe. She was his friend. Shortly after she became his support. He didn't understand why she didn't run away when it was revealed how big of a freak he was, but he wish she had. She would have been much happier. No he didn't. He was glad, in his most secret, most selfish heart, that she was here with him.

He realized, with certainty, that he did not think that he was at all foolish for stepping in front of that green light. Dying for her then was maybe the most right thing he has ever done. She had stayed when she didn't need to, offered help when it all became scary. His stepping in front of her was obvious, instinct.

Hermione's brow furrowed and she groaned, stretching against him for a tantalizing moment before she open her eyes, looking confused and then stared up at his face. Her face turned a light pink and she moved to roll away from him, but he grabbed her shoulder to keep her there. She stopped and stared up at him again. They stayed that way, their breaths getting faster, for a few moments until the door burst open and the tall red headed boy from earlier walked in.

"Oh, uh, well." He looked them, his mouth a little open, his ears turning a bright red. Harry and Hermione moved away from each other, sitting up.

"So, yeah, dinner's ready and we thought you all might want to come down, ask some questions and figure things out. I know it doesn't look too good right now. What with us bringing you here, forcing your parents to forget you and move, and locking you in a windowless room… Blimey, we sound like right berks, really. Sorry about that." He looked embarrassed again, and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. He cleared his throat.

"I'm Ron, by the way, Ron Weasley." Hermione stood up and looked at him critically before nodding, moving towards the door.

Harry followed, looking up at the tall boy's expressive face. He certainly didn't seem evil, really. Harry sighed, "I'm Harry Potter."

Ron flushed and nodded, looking for a long second at his scar. "I know." Harry looked at him curiously then, but Hermione brushed past Ron at that moment and stood in the doorway.

"Hermione Granger. You've got a bit of dirt there, on your nose, you know?" She said touching the side of hers before flipping her hair over her shoulder and moving into the hallway.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The scene they walked into looked almost like Da Vinci's Last Supper. The stern women was sitting stoically in the middle of the table across from them. The red headed family was grouped together, whispering and gesturing towards the other people on the other side of her, who looked to be having a much calmer discussion. When Harry and Hermione were fully seated, the table quieted. Some people sat, others stayed standing, leaving Harry and Hermione's side of the table empty save themselves.

The silence stretched on awkwardly, the stern women eyeing them thoughtfully for a time while Hermione fidgeted and Harry started back, frowning. Hermione wasn't used to being looked at in such a way. She wasn't use to anything anymore, and had to fight the constant urge to run, screaming, from the building. The stern women finally cleared her throat.

"My name is Minerva McGonagall. I can't imagine what you all are feeling, or what questions you have, but...We must ask something first. Mr. Potter, when we came upon you all at Miss Granger's residence, she was...upset, to say the least, saying that you were hit by a green light and had died. She then said that you had started breathing again shortly afterward. Do you know what happened?"

Hermione felt the tension in the room. The people across from her were all staring at Harry with intensity, almost to the point that they were holding their breath. She noticed that their eyes kept twitching all over his face, but they seemed to linger in one area longer. She wasn't sure, but they seemed to be staring at his scar, which to her seemed strangely more pale than before, more faded.

He stared back at them for a long moment, his expression stoney. He then leaned forward and quietly, sharply said, "I don't see why I should tell you." He then leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed in front of his chest. He continued, "If you want to know anything, you have to answer some questions first. Who the hell are you all to be demanding anything of Hermione and I? How dare you make the decision to do anything to Hermione's parents without even talking to her about it first? What makes you all so self important that you think you can lock us in a room? Moreover, why should we believe anything you fucking say at all, even if you do decide to tell us?"

Harry's voice got progressively louder as he spoke. By the end of his speech, his face and voice changed from cold anger into the fiery kind, his cheeks and ears red, his eyes sparking. Hermione stared at him a little shocked and watched the crowd's reactions carefully. She couldn't believe that he would be so brave, so stupid, as to yell at a crowd of armed witches with the ability to do god knows what magic. The stern woman, McGonagall's, face stayed mostly the same, except that her lips pursed further. The red headed family, the Weasleys presumably, stared at Harry with similar expressions of shock and embarrassment. Ron looked particularly red in the face, though she wasn't sure if he looked embarrassed or angry. The twins had wide grins on their faces as they too looked around at people's reactions.

The non-Weasley side of the table were less expressive, looking at Harry mildly with mixed reactions from humor from the pink haired women to annoyance from the man with the strange eye. The McGonagall woman spoke again, still calm, "Do you feel better, Mr. Potter, more in control now that you've yelled and swore at everybody?" Harry paled slightly and lost his scowl, but didn't uncross his arms, and continued to stare at McGonagall.

"Fine, we will answer some of your questions first. I have already told you both that we are an organization called the Order of the Phoenix. I have also already told you that we oppose He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and that by keeping you here we are trying to keep you safe. As for Mrs. Granger's parents, there was an… argument on how we should handle them."

Hermione glanced over to the Weasleys fidgeting and noted their displeased expressions. "But a decision had to be made quickly, as they could not have come in, and we could not have, in good conscience, sent them back out to their deaths. We could not consult Miss Granger because there is too much to explain. We realize that this is difficult to accept, but we did what we thought was best at the time." McGonagall stared now at Hermione instead of Harry, her face softening minutely, but enough for Hermione to feel the sincerity of her next words. "Miss Granger, I promise you, we have every intention to keep them safe. And after, after everything is over, if there is an over, we can fix it. We can give them their memories back. We will try to make that possible for you."

Hermione felt the weight of these words, which she was sure was a declaration of something bigger than just having to do with her and her family, land in her stomach. She stared into the wizened face of this woman who had not broken eye contact with her once, and knew that some part of her accepted her words. The other part of her just felt tired, like a rubber band pulled too tight and then left stretched and floppy on the floor.

McGonagall looked back towards Harry and said, "As for locking you in a room, I suppose it seemed heavy handed, but we don't necessarily trust you either, do we? So, in that regard, if you could answer our questions now, Mr. Potter?"

Harry slowly pulled his arms down from his chest, frowning, and looked at Hermione with questions in his eyes. He wanted to know what she thought. Hermione considered the people across from them for a moment before leaning in to whisper to Harry, "Tell them something, then promise to tell them more after they grant us a favor." Harry gave a small nod.

"Um, then, shortly I suppose, I died. The monster yelled something like, 'Arvada Cadaver' and a green light went for Hermione, and I somehow knew that it would kill her, so I stepped in front of her and it hit my back. Uh, then I woke up in the Win...In some sort of inbetween place and spoke to an old teacher who had died a couple of years ago. There was someone...something else there too." Harry hesitated and glanced again at Hermione. He crossed his arms again and nodded his head towards Hermione, "I'll tell you more after you do whatever it is Hermione asks."

The whole table was staring at Harry in open mouth shocked. Even McGonagall's pursed lips were loosened. Hermione realized that they were looking at him in blatant awe. The pink haired women whispered a choked cor. Ron Weasley muttered a blimey under his breath. Harry shifted awkwardly in his seat. Hermione coughed and everyone looked to her, but their eyes trailed back to him as though magnetized.

"H-Harry will tell you more about his experiences after you let us make a phone call each. They even let you do that in prison, so I don't think it is too much to ask. It would also show that your intentions aren't those of kidnappers, and we can show you that we don't plan on telling anybody where we are or who we are with. Think of it as a team building trust exercise for people against this monster." McGonagall's mouth twisted into a frown, an objection on her lips when Hermione preemptively interrupted her with a disparate whisper, "Please, I have to let my loved ones know we are alright. I don't want to make any of them grieve when they don't have to, I can't make them go through that. I won't tell them any details, or really anything at all. I just can't let them go to our damaged, burnt house and think the worst. They will be very worried and confused, I am sure, but at least they won't think we're dead."

Hermione held eye contact with McGonagall until she gave a very reluctant nod. Hermione let out a breath.

* * *

There was a crowd of translucent witches (and wizards, Hermione was sharply told) surrounding the phone box she and Harry had been shoved into. She wouldn't have known they were there if she hadn't seen them disappear, didn't get glimpses of their shimmering outlines in the moonlight every once and awhile. And also if the pink haired woman, introduced chipperly as Tonks, hadn't tumbled into one of bushes lining the street, letting out a strangled "bollocks" that she could barely hear in the phone booth.

She had considered calling the police for help but thought better of it. Not only did she think that wouldn't work out well for her, she didn't think it was necessary. It wasn't that she trusted these people implicitly, but she didn't distrust them so strongly. She not only had no idea what exactly Harry and her were dealing with, but these were the only magical people they had met that hadn't tried to murder them.

Hermione shoved in some change and dialed her mother's best friend's number, hoping that someone was home. Her husband, David, answered.

"Hello."

"H-Hello, David. Is Marcie there?"

"Oh thank God, Hermione. Marcie, it's Hermione! You have no idea how worried we have been. Marcie was suppose to have lunch with your mum, and when she didn't show up, we swung by your place and it was trashed Hermione, what happ…" David's voice was abruptly replaced with Marcie's.

"Hermione? Hermione! What on earth has happened? Are you okay? Are your parents okay?"

"Marcie, W-we." Hermione choked back a sob. Dammit, she thought to herself, it's going to be much harder to convince her that you are okay with you crying. Hermione felt Harry shift closer to her, his chest on her back, his hand lightly holding hers. She felt a rush of gratitude, not for the first time, that he was there.

"Hermione darling, tell me what's happened." Marcie's voice was full of emotion.

"Marcie, something big has happened. Something so big that I can't actually tell you."

"W-What? What could possibly…"

"Marcie, please. Please just listen, I don't have a lot of time. Something big has happened, but I need you to know that we are all okay. Whatever you hear, whatever you think might have happened, please just know we are okay. Please let everyone know that I've called, okay? Let them know what I have said. You have to believe me Marcie. I think, I hope that I will be able to explain to you fully one day."

"Hermione, love, you really aren't making a lot of sense. Just slow down and…"

"Goodbye Marcie, keep safe."

Hermione hung up the phone with a clatter and a sob. But just one sob. She felt strangely empty. She felt Harry put an arm around her middle as she hung her head and let a few tears fall. There was a sharp rap on the window and a translucent hand made a hurrying motion. Hermione took a deep, shuddering breath and turned towards edge of the box, leaving Harry facing the phone. She leaned back a little and put her feet between his, trying to let him know that she was there. His face was very pale and he stared at the phone for a long moment. Hermione realized with dawning horror that he wasn't sure who to call, if he had anyone who cared.

Before she could move towards him, his hands reached out for the phone. He put change in and dialed a number with a blank look on his face. The phone rang a few times before a loud voice half yelling over background noise shouted, "Hello, this is the Winchester. We are having a…"

"Jamie, it's Harry."

"Oh my god, Harry. Holy shit, mate. We were all pissed you missed your shift earlier, but then the police came and…"

"Could you just transfer back to the manager's office, Jamie?"

"Sure thing, Harry."

"Hello?" A much quieter voice asked.

"Hey Lauren."

"Harry. Oh, Harry. We heard. We heard about your family. The police came this afternoon looking for you. Where have you been? Do...you know, right, about your family?" The voice fell into a whisper, barely audible to Hermione.

"Yes, I know. Lauren, I'm calling to tell you that I can't come in anymore, that I quit. Things have...have come up."

"Yeah, I mean, no shit Harry. You have to go into the police. They think that you poisoned your family."

"What?"

"You didn't know? You said you knew!"

"I know they're dead, I didn't know that they're blaming me!"

"Look, they died suddenly all at once and their unwanted nephew goes missing right after, it looks a wee bit suspicious, no?" The voice was louder again, sounding wavering, a little hysterical.

Harry thunked his head down on the pay phone.

"Shit. Shit. Look, Lauren. I-I can't go to the police. The mo-person who killed them is after me."

"What? Harry, that means you definitely have to go to the police."

"I can't Lauren. I can't explain. You wouldn't believe me anyway. But you have to believe me on this, I didn't kill them. You believe me right?"

"R-right Harry. I believe you, just come in. I'll help you." The voice on the phone wavered and faltered. Even listening, Hermione knew that she didn't believe him, that she was lying. Harry hung up the phone, his head still leaning against it. He turned his head towards Hermione, his eyes very bright with unshed tears. Hermione didn't know what to say, instead taking his hand in both of hers.

"What a day we are having, hey?" Hermione said after a long moment of silence, her thumb running over the back of his hand. Harry snorted then laughed, Hermione joining in until they were both doubled over, leaning against each other.

There was a knock on the door, which Hermione opened, the both of them stumbling out. An outline of a person with a bubbly voice, probably Tonks, giggled and then said, "Looks like the phone calls were a great idea. What are you all laughing about?" She was laughing lightly with them, infected with their guffaws.

Harry took a deep gasping breath, getting out, "They thi-think that I-I killed my f-family." His laughter slowed after speaking, his gasping for air taking on a different quality. Hermione's laughter died in her throat, her smile sliding off her face. She watched Harry carefully as he remained bent over, his hands on his knees, still gasping.

"What?" A gruff voice said, coming from a shimmering body by the phone booth. Harry was now crouching, taking disparate gulps of air. Hermione reached forward and rubbed his back, looking blankly into space, thinking of what she heard.

"The monster killed Harry's family with magic, which to people who don't know about it must look like a poisoning of some kind, as they were obviously murdered, but have no marks. I'm sure they will do all sorts of tests. Harry would be a prime suspect for murdering them, as everyone knows they don't get on, and Harry has been mysteriously missing since their deaths, missing work and everything. They probably think he ran." Hermione was now rubbing absent minded circles around Harry's back as he got his breathing under control. "And they'll think that me and my family have something to do with it too."

Harry snapped his head up, looking at her with frantic eyes, "What? Why would they think that?"

Hermione took a deep breath, feeling detached and said, "Because the police will investigate you, Harry, see what you were up to that day, where you had been, what you had bought. We went places, the restaurant and the pet store, the park. People saw us. People saw me give you my number at the Winchester too, so it is only a matter of time before they put us together. And when they find out my name, they will go to my house and…"

"Find it trashed and you all missing, with only your phone call as any clue what's happened." Harry finished for her in a whisper, slowly raising into a standing position. "Hermione, I'm so sorry. None of this would be happening if you hadn't met me." Harry couldn't look her in the eye, his shoulders hunched.

Hermione felt, for a brief, cruel second, that he was right. She would be at home with her parents, planning her move to Cambridge, friendless and unaware that her Odd Moments were so much more. But in the storm of emotions in her, alternatively numbing and overwhelming her in their intensity, she knew that she wasn't angry with him. She took his head in her hands, making him look at her.

"Meeting you was great Harry, it was...good, in the true meaning of the word. The problem wasn't meeting you, it was that some lunatic with a ridiculous name was after you. That wasn't your fault. It isn't your fault." Harry stared at her with intensity, his expression unreadable to Hermione. He slowly raised his hand and put it on hers.

There was an uncomfortable cough and a reasonable, smooth male voice spoke from somewhere in the mass of shimmering outlines. "Ah, that is indeed bad news. It is all the more reason why we need to head back to Headquarters quickly. We shouldn't linger here." The shimmers starting moving up the street, circling Harry and Hermione as they went.

* * *

They were at the table again, this time everyone sitting, still with a space around Harry and Hermione. There was more soup and bread, Mrs. Weasley saying that she wasn't expecting so many people and this is all she had that could feed everybody. The scarred man spoke in whisper to McGonagall as everyone started eating, Harry and Hermione mechanically putting spoonfuls of soup up to their mouths.

McGonagall cleared her throat. "Mr. Moody has told me how your phone calls went. It is unfortunate that things have turned out this way. It will be hard to fix this with magic, I'm afraid, as we aren't sure who all in the police force knows what, and..."

"It might not actually be a problem, in the long run," Hermione interrupted, looking thoughtful, taping her spoon against her lips.

"How?" McGonagall asked, raising an eyebrow.

"If Harry, or I for that matter, were caught by the police that would be a problem, I suppose, as this Monster fellow is after Harry in particular, and also probably me too now. Being trapped in one place while the police question us and an evil magical person is looking for us would be very troubling. However, after the evil wizard is dealt with and Harry and I go back to our lives, I don't think this will be as much a problem as we think." Hermione noted but ignored the flurry of significant looks that were shot around the table at her statement and continued on.

"We, of course, will be arrested and questioned once we go back, but they won't have anything that can take us to court. As we know, Harry didn't poison his relatives, so they will not find traces of anything in their bodies. Therefore there is no murder weapon. It is awfully suspicious that Harry will not have come forward when they died, leaving all of his stuff behind, but that itself isn't proof of murder. Everything will be circumstantial evidence, and you can't convict someone of murder with only circumstantial evidence. At most they could get him for avoiding arrest. They will have even less on me, as I'm not suspected of murder. They won't believe that this all coincidence, of course, but the point is that they won't have evidence of anything, and that's what matters. So, I suppose in the mean time, we just have to avoid going in public without some sort of disguise, though I'm not sure how much that will help with stupid V-name. How did he keep tracking Harry down anyway?"

The table stared at Hermione in silence. Harry looked at Hermione with a little hope. "Really? You think it will be that easy?"

"I don't think it will be easy, really. I mean, we are still going to get arrested and questioned, I just don't think we will end up in jail. On some police watch list, sure, but not jail." Harry let out a long breath, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Thank you Hermione. If we get back to real life, I'll make sure you're my lawyer." Hermione rolls her eyes, smiling a little.

"To answer your questions, Ms. Granger, Harry must finish answering ours. It will helps us know if he can still track you, and it is of utmost importance that we know before we show you anything more."

Harry nodded, looking marginally more relaxed. "Where did I leave off? Seeing my old teacher? I mentioned that we also saw something else there right?" The table nodded, all pretenses of eating forgotten, everyone listening with attention.

"There was a...a horrible baby thing there too. Only it wasn't a baby, it had an old face. It looked like it had been rubbed raw or something. It had red eyes and slits instead of a…" Harry realized with disgust that the baby thing had had Voldemort's face. "It looked like Vol-, like the stupid V-named monster. It had his face. What does that mean?"

"You left that thing there then, Mr. Potter? You left it there to die?"

"Yes, I think so. I certainly didn't bring it back with me."

The table was once again silent, the air electric. Suddenly one of the twins jumped up saying, "I think this calls for breaking out the firewhiskey, no?"

"Hear, hear, Freddy!" The other twin yelled as his brother went through the swinging kitchen door. The table broke out into excited chatter, the haggard looking man let out a whoop, the red haired girl and the pink haired women high fived, while Mr. Weasley yelled out, "bring the mead then, too, Fred!"

Fred came back in hovering glasses with his wand, swishing so that they landed in front of everybody, the drinks floating behind, pouring into everyone's glasses.

"Oh, not Ginny's Fred." Mrs. Weasley said, leaning over and trying to stop the flow of mead into her daughter's cup.

"Come on, Mum, please?" Ginny said, giving her mother exaggerated puppy eyes.

"Oh ... all right, just a little." Mrs Weasley said, sitting back down, laughing a little. She took a sip of her drink and said, "We could all use the celebration, I suppose."

Harry and Hermione sat bewildered, watching their classes fill with a mysterious red drink that kept sparking randomly.

"So I guess this is good news then, I take it?" Harry looked over at McGonagall, who might as well have been smiling, how unpursed her lips were, she herself taking a sip from her class.

"Yes, Mr. Potter, very good news. That thing you saw was a part of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's soul. He has split his soul...several times. You seeing him in between lives like that means that you have succeeded where we have all failed. You, or I suppose, he himself, has killed part of his soul. We have been searching for the parts of his soul to destroy for sometime, and this is the second part that we know is dead. When all the parts are destroyed, You-Know-Who will be able to die as well."

Hermione sat back, trying to process everything that McGonagall said. Next to her, Harry spoke up. "Wait, so you are saying that when he tried to kill me, he killed a part of his soul. So a part of his soul was…"

"It seems it was in you, yes, Mr. Potter. I am not sure what connection you two had, as this is all unexplored magic, but I am sure it wasn't pleasant."

Harry looked blank for a second, a million miles away, "No, it wasn't."

McGonagall gave him an almost warm expression. "Then you should drink too, Mr. Potter, as that means that you don't have that connection anymore. He can no longer find you that way."

Hermione heard Harry whisper to himself, "No more dreams, no more headaches…" before he raised his glass and took it down in one shot. He grimaced as it went down and then opened his mouth in shock as a small burst of flame left his mouth. He gave a startled laugh. There was clapping from the other side of the table, the Weasley boys all grinning. Ron said, "You aren't suppose to drink it in one shot. That must of hurt."

Harry gave a cocky grin back, "Kind of, but it was mostly amazing."

That earned him hearty cheers, but Hermione was focused on McGonagall. "When we first got here, Harry asked you why we couldn't just go to Australia too. You said it was because he was still after Harry. But with this new development, it would be hard for him to find us there, wouldn't it? At least as hard for him to find us here, right?" Hermione watched McGonagall's face as her question caused her to stiffen again, her face closing.

"You-Know-Who had a very easy time finding Mr. Potter before, after his seventeenth birthday at least, because of that connection. But it isn't the only way for him to find you both. It is better for you to be here, with people who know that he is looking for you, who already oppose him."

"Better, maybe, but you said, before, that we needed to be here. Especially Harry. Why would Harry need to especially be here, he was a liability wasn't he? Why would I need to be here? Why need?"

"Don't focus so much on the word choice, Ms. Granger, I was trying to convey the urgency of the situation, only." Hermione watched McGonagall carefully and even then almost missed the slight, guilty glance away from her eyes as she spoke. Only Hermione and McGonagall were somber as everyone drank and ate.

* * *

Harry and Hermione went up to their room, Mrs. Weasley watching them leave together with a small disapproving look.

Harry flopped down on his bed, a little red in the face. Hermione went over to the other bed, deep in thought.

"I don't trust them, Harry."

Harry sat up, frowning. "Do you think that they hurt your parents after all?"

"No, I don't. I don't think that they are up to something ...evil, I guess. I think that they want to use us for something. Things aren't adding up. We still don't know why the monster is after you. Presumably it was because you had a bit of his soul. But then, now that it is gone, why is he still after you? Revenge? No, it doesn't make sense, why would he try to kill you if you had a piece of his soul? If he didn't know you had part of his soul, then why is he after you? And moreover, why is he after me, besides being in connection with you? McGonagall said that he hates our kind, remember? What is our kind? And most importantly, why is it so important that we stay here to be protected, rather than far away? See, it's the last one that really gets me, Harry. I think they need us here for something. Or at least you, for something other than protection."

Harry listened to Hermione with his hands on the back of his neck, slouched forward with his elbows on his knees. He took a long breath and looked up at her.

"We will have to ask them about why he was after me in the first place tomorrow, Hermione. But you are right, it doesn't bode well, does it?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Hermione's house was almost glowing how sunny it was outside. The windows were wide open, an early summer breeze blowing in. She could hear her parents in the kitchen, music playing softly, meaning it was her mom's turn to cook. Hermione smiled to herself, feeling very at ease. She made her way into the kitchen, her question of what was for lunch dying on her lips as she saw that her parents weren't actually there. Shrugging, she poured herself some tea and flipped through her Cambridge pamphlets for the thousandth time. For some reason she couldn't seem to concentrate, the words blurring together. The music seemed too loud, she could concentrate if only for the music. She turned the radio off. Silence rang through the house, more noticeable than the radio noise.

Hermione felt her heartbeat speed up. She thought for sure her parents should be home, she didn't understand why they weren't. She wanted to call out to make sure they weren't there, but her voice felt tight in her throat. Suddenly she could hear the faint shuffle of feet, a slight cough, a small chuckle that sounded like her father's. But it didn't sound quite right. It had a strange echo, the silence too great. She made her way slowly from the kitchen to the stairway, glancing up over the railing to the second floor. She tried again to call for her mother, but the words seemed trapped. Her heart started beating more quickly, she suddenly felt that the people upstairs weren't her parents.

She started upstairs carefully, not making any noise, feeling like a ghost. She could hear her parent's bathroom door open and close, could hear what sounded like her mother's soft laugh, the sound too far away. She opened her parent's door with a muted swoosh, rubbing against the carpet. The room was empty, very bright and so quiet, the stillness suffocating. Hermione felt a sob building in her throat, getting stuck in the same place as her words. She knew something was terribly wrong, so terribly wrong. The bathroom door was closed, a bright light shining underneath. The door handle was too hot or too cold, she couldn't tell, but with a small gasp she shoved the door open. It scrapped heavily against the tile.

The bathroom was bright white and too big, grandiose, nothing like her parent's bathroom with it's pink towels and one sink that her parents always argued over. There was a claw footed tub in the center of the room, deep and old, but still somehow gleaming. Hermione felt like her heart itself was stuck in her throat now, how fast it was beating. She wanted very badly to scream. Instead she made her silent way over to the tub, looked over the lip to see Harry, lying down fully clothed with blank eyes staring at the ceiling, pale in death. Slowly his mouth opened, opened too wide, a black hole, and blood gushed out from it impossibly fast. The tub started to fill and Hermione fell to her knees, uncomprehending, mind and heart as one screaming in terror.

Hermione sat up gasping, her heart racing. The room was dark, she couldn't see anything, but knew it wasn't hers. Her eyes made their way to the outline of what appeared to be another bed, her mind catching up. She remembered where she was all at once. She stood shakily and made her way over to Harry's bed only to find it empty. Hermione swallowed a sob, her throat very dry. Her cheeks felt too hot. She wanted to cry, but she felt sick of crying, it felt like all she had been doing for days. Instead she quietly opened the door, looking down the narrow dark hallway to see light under the bathroom door. She carefully climbed down the stairs and felt her way through the kitchen doorway, flicking on the light switch as she went. She went to the drying rack resting by the wide, deep ancient sink and pulled off a glass, pouring herself water, sipping slowly, trying to make her heart calm down.

She didn't want to analyze her dream, it was fairly obvious. For perhaps the first time in her life, Hermione Granger didn't want to think anything at all.

She put the glass to her cheek and looked at the wallpaper, faded and ugly. She stared at the grey curlicues on the wall, her mind absently following their curves, her heart slowing down, her eyes becoming heavier.

The kitchen door burst open with a bang. Hermione jumped, clutching her glass of water tighter, her heart jumping right back into action.

Harry came in quickly, his eyes finding hers as he closed the kitchen door behind him more softly than he had opened it. He strode up to her quickly, lightly grasping her shoulder. "I came back from the bathroom and you were gone, I didn't know what to think. Are you okay?" He looked a little worn, panic still at the corners of his eyes.

Hermione wanted to say yes, to say that she just woke up thirsty, but much to her horror, she found that her throat was still tight. She knew if she spoke she would cry. Instead she stared up into his animated face, his eyes bright green, his hair stuck down to one side and sticking up on the other. He looked very much alive. Hermione blinked away the image if his mouth gushing blood, of his actual face, dead and staring in her lap as Voldemort twitched and jerked on the floor feet away. She desperately wanted her mother, wanted her to come to her smelling of soap, cloth and skin and pat her hair and give her more water. She wanted her father to come in a make fun of her for needing her mummy at the age of eighteen, wanted him to give her one of his bear hugs while he did it.

Hermione felt the tears sliding down her face and took a deep gasping breath, putting the glass down on the table. She put her hands on her cheeks, covering her eyes with her fingers. "I'm sorry, Harry, I swear I am not usually so weepy, it's just that I had a bad dream and am handling it like a three year old…" Her voice came out terribly croaky, eventually breaking. Hermione curled her her fingers into fists against her eyes, feeling so vulnerable.

Hermione felt Harry's arms hesitantly circle her, pulling her tightly against his chest. She could feel the vibrations of his voice as he spoke. "Oh Hermione, I'm no stranger to bad dreams, they're always awful. It's amazing how they can affect you for so long after, even though you know they are all in your head. I know when I woke up from one, I always felt so alone. I always… I always thought that a...a hug would be nice in those moments, but I don't know, I never actually… At anyrate, do let me know if I'm annoying you."

Hermione lowered her hands from her eyes and circled them loosely around his waist. She rested her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes. "Of course not. In fact, if you could just stay like that for a bit, if you don't mind…"

"My pleasure, Miss Granger."

Hermione smiled softly and listened to his heart beating steadily in his chest. She listened to it and tried to dispel the images of his dead face from her mind, one by one. She took in his smell, cloth, sleep, and something strangely fresh, something uniquely him. She took a deep breath and promised to herself that she would see her parents again. She promised herself that in the meantime she would be strong, that she could be strong, if she could just rest her cheek here every once and awhile. Hermione felt herself fading, swaying a little. Harry's arms tightened more around her.

"We're both pretty beat. Let's go."

Hermione frowned but nodded, her eyes still half closed as she watched him put more water into the glass with one hand and take her hand in the other. She stumbled along, following him sleepily.

* * *

The next morning Hermione woke to the sound of soft knocking. There was a light shining in from their window, it seemed that they had slept in quite late. Across the room Harry groaned as he stretched awake. The door opened carefully as Hermione sat up, revealing the smallest and youngest of the Weasleys. She blushed at Harry and glanced quickly to Hermione, giving her a small, awkward smile before she closed the door behind her and walked into the middle of the room. Harry and Hermione stared at her, her face becoming more and more red as the silence wore on.

"Uh, um, well, I'm actually not suppose to be in here. I'm suppose to let you both continue to sleep, but, come on it's, like, almost noon." Her voice was surprisingly loud, given her shy demeanor. Harry and Hermione made glancing eye contact as the girl huffed and abruptly sat cross legged in the middle of the floor.

"Fine, I should have just let you guys sleep more, but I wanted to get to you first. Everybody else will take over talking to you guys when you get down stairs and I wanted to talk to you both myself." Her arms were crossed in front of her chest, a small pout on her lips. She looked mildly defensive.

"Why do you want to talk to us alone?" Hermione swung her legs out from under the blankets.

"First, I don't know if I have ever really introduced myself. My name is Ginny Weasley, well, it's actually Ginevra, but please for the love of Merlin, don't call me that. Ginny is good. Uhm, I didn't have anything important really to talk to you about, exactly. You both have to understand, for years and years I have been here, talking to these same people. I suppose it's a bit selfish to say, considering everything, but it can get dreadfully boring sometimes."

Hermione considered this for a moment. She supposed that it must be boring. Who was this Voldemort person really that a woman couldn't even go out to socialize? To Hermione's surprise, Harry jumped right passed the small talk.

"And you all know I'm Harry Potter, apparently. Do you know why Vol...You-Know-Who was after me?"

Ginny's mouth fell open a little in surprise, but she closed it quickly. Looking thoughtful, she brushed her long red hair over her shoulder and considered Harry for a moment. "So you really don't know anything, then. Well, I suppose I'm as good as any person to tell you about it, as often as I've heard the stories." Ginny took a deep breath and started to play with the ends of the long strands of her hair.

"He is after you because you are the Boy-Who-Lived."

"The Boy-Who-Lived? You all do like your hyphenated names. And what was I supposed to have lived through?"

She didn't look at either of them, but frowned into the distance, uncomfortable.

"Uh, so, on Halloween night, 1980, You-Know-Who went to your parent's house. Wait, first I should say that your parents were in hiding. You-Know-Who was after your parents, who opposed him. You see, your mother was a muggleborn, a witch with non-magical parents, like Hermione here, and your father was a pureblood, a wizard with magical parents and grandparents and so on. You-Know-Who hates witches and wizards that come from muggles, he thinks that they are somehow dirty. Anyway, your parents clearly didn't agree with him and they fought against him. So, on Halloween night, he found your parents and he… he um, killed them. He tried to kill you, but somehow it didn't work. The curse bounced off of you, giving you that scar, and hit him and he was gone, thought dead, for 5 years. He came back, but for a long time people thought that you had killed him somehow, and we had peace again, at least for awhile. You-Know-Who took that rather personally, you know, and so when he came back he meant to find you and finish you to show that he was invincible or whatever. But no one could find you, no one at all. Dumbledore, a good and powerful wizard had hid you after your parents died, and when he died, no one could remember where you were."

Ginny trailed off at the end, taking glances and then staring at Harry as the story went on. Hermione looked up at Harry's face too. He looked stoney, his eyes distant. "I think I really, really don't like this bloke," Harry muttered as something in his eyes hardened. He stood up and walked to the door. "Excuse me a minute."

Hermione watched worriedly as the door close softly behind him. Ginny stood and sat on the newly vacated bed. "I'm sorry, I really just meant to come up here for a chat, I didn't mean to spring that on him, but he surprised me, you know?"

Ginny looked a little miserable, staring down into her hands.

"Don't be sorry, I don't think that there would ever really be a good time to hear that story, Ginny, so thank you for telling us now, when we asked, I suppose."

Ginny nodded, looking a little relieved. "But then, what did he think had happened to his parents?"

"I believe that his relatives told him that they had died in a car crash."

"Ahhh."

There was a long silence between the two girls for a few minutes. Finally Hermione asked, "So this Vol...You-Know-Who fellow, he hates me too then? As my parents aren't witches and I am?"

Ginny nodded, frowning. "It's a bit beyond barmy. The wizarding population was never big to begin with, and now he wants only purebloods to have children with purebloods. That's just unhealthy and gross, as most of them are at least cousins. And I've never understood the hatred for muggleborns, it happens naturally, so why be upset about it? We are all born with it, who cares if you parents were or not?"

"Are your family purebloods then? Your parents seem to be able to do magic."

"Ah, yes, we have been purebloods for some time now. It hasn't been on purpose really. Sometimes it is just easier to marry someone with the same background as you, you know?"

"I suppose, but then why are you all fighting against him, if he isn't against you all?"

Ginny looked thoughtfully at Hermione. "Just because evil wouldn't affect us directly doesn't mean that we can just sit back and watch others suffer from it. The world is full of different people, places and things, and we should accept that, be happy about it. People who try to make everyone the same never make any sense, are always in the wrong. No one in my family could just stand by and watch just because we happen to fit into this narrow definition of what is right."

Hermione looked at Ginny, her face red, her eyes passionate, and felt that she rather liked her. "So it seems that, even though magic is real, people are still people. This Vol...You-Know-Who fellow, he hates not because it makes any sense, but because it gives you power to do so. It isn't a real power though, it's an empty fire, a cold warmth. I think it's great that your family can see past themselves to other people's needs, though, making sacrifices to help others."

Ginny's face tightened, suddenly looking older than her years. "Yes, that we have."

Hermione felt startled, wanted to ask what exactly she meant, but Harry came back in, still looking stoney faced, but less distant in the eyes. He walked over to Hermione's bed and sat next to her, their knees touching.

"Thank you for telling the truth, Ginny."

"Of course, Harry, you ought to know."

The door moved open once again, this time the pink haired woman and haggard man coming through.

"Wotcher, Harry, Hermione, we are going on an adventure." The pink haired woman, Tonks, was practically bouncing.

"We need to get you two some wands. There is quite a risk with this, but it will be worth it. Then you two can start doing some real magic," the haggard man said, much calmer than Tonks, but his eyes twinkling slightly with mischief.

* * *

It felt like time was playing a trick. Days seemed to bleed away, sand through fingers. Hermione stared at the calendar hidden in the back of the library, tacked up in between bookshelves. It updated magically, but apparently hadn't been looked at in a long time. She had to wipe a rather thick layer of dust off the thin glass that protected it. November. It said November first. At first, she was sure that it was just wrong, but it had the correct year and everything else, so it seemed that it was November.

Hermione slide down the bookshelf that was to her back until she was sitting, her arms around her knees. She was suppose to have started school a whole month ago. She had wanted a degree in history but she was terribly interested in physics as well, and was having trouble sticking to her original choice. Not that it mattered now, Hermione thought, as she wouldn't go to school for some time, and everything they could teach her about either subject would be rather inaccurate, knowing what she knows now.

Magic. Hermione fingered the wand in her light coat pocket, smiling a little. Magic was real and in her pocket.

"Oh, Hello." Ron said looking down at her in mild surprise, "What are you sitting down there for?"

"It just hit me that I've missed the first month of school."

"Right, Ginny had mentioned that you were suppose to go to some fancy muggle school…" Ron paused awkwardly before sliding down next to her, folding his lanky frame, barely able to fit his legs against his chest.

"Tight fit. Though you seem fine, tiny people usually are in small places." Ron finished in a bit of a mumble, shifting a little until he was more comfortable. "I'm not good at emotional stuff, and I'm sure you'd rather talk to your bloke, or Ginny, but I can hardly leave sitting here staring all sad like at the wall, now can I?"

Hermione smiled at him, amused. "I think you could have, but thank you still. I'm not actually all that sad at the moment, surprisingly. I think I'm just feeling introspective." Hermione pulled out her wand, holding each end in her palms. "Magic, I just can't get over it. I really haven't gotten use to carrying this thing around either. I suppose it must be weird for you to even contemplate life without a wand?"

"Well, actually, as children we aren't allowed wands. They have a lot reasons for it but I think they just try to keep it away from us because we'd be unholy terrors. But still, I guess you're right, I've always known about wands and magic and stuff. I'd feel empty not having one now." Ron frowned, pulling out his own wand and spinning it between his fingers.

"It's truly lucky that Mr. Ollivander was able to go into hiding like that. What would Harry and I have done if You-Know-Who had gotten hold of him or he had ran or whatever?" Hermione hadn't particularly liked the old man, there was something very off putting about him, though Hermione couldn't put her finger exactly on why. It was close to the frustrating feeling of being around someone smarter than you who wasn't afraid to boast about it, but more creepy, or frightening, because he wasn't just boasting, he did know things. But she was still glad he was around.

A month ago, Tonks and the newly introduced Remus Lupin had taken them from their room, leaving Ginny behind, and lead them through a very confusing connection of travel. First through the fire, using something called floo, out of into a dark abandoned room, where they were squeezed and pulled away instantaneously in a method of travel called apparition, where they appeared in another dark living room. Then they were floo'd again, and arrived again in a living room, where they touched a thing called a portkey, which looked like an old newspaper, that then took them to the front of a block of row houses. Tonks had whispered an address into Harry and Hermione's ears and another perfectly ordinary looking row house appeared in the middle.

But it was not ordinary, even for a house that appeared into existence at a whisper. Inside were stacks and stacks of wands, lining every wall space and taking up most of the floor. In the middle of the dimly lit living room were a few chairs, a table, and a mysterious old man who knew a lot about her without ever having met her. And if he knew a lot about Hermione, he knew an uncomfortable amount about Harry. About his parents, about his strength and weaknesses, about his connections to Voldemort. He himself bestowed another connection to Voldemort upon Harry, giving Harry Voldemort's brother wand. Hermione left feeling grateful for her wand and even a little for his intrusive wisdom, but Harry left agitated. He only said, "I don't particularly like him at all, but hey, at least we have wands." His words were mild enough, but he's eyes looked burdened.

"Yeah, if Ollivander had shared You-Know-Who's views, things would have been really hard on all of us. I suppose we would have had to have gone abroad. But still, Ollivander is the best of his trade, so that would have been a real blow." Ron gave a little smile to his own wand, now resting lazily in his hand.

"So, what spells have the old fogies been teaching you?"

Hermione scoffed."Magic has been...amazing to learn. It feels...I don't know...The best way I can describe it is that it feels like coming home. It feels right. Plus I love to study. You'd think studying and magic together would be my dream come true, but…" Hermione let out a long deep sigh.

Ron gave her a small nudge and a knowing smile. "Hey, I had to be taught by them too, no school for me, just me and my siblings, sometimes a stray kids here and there, and them. I know the feeling. And they are riding you both hard. How many hours a day do you all study?"

Hermione groaned, tilting her head back against the bookshelf. "I really don't know, it feels like we barely sleep. It's like we're in boot camp. I know that we have a lot of catching up to do, but still, it seems like they're training us for something. Especially Harry. And I love Harry and all, but learning with him is exhausting. He doesn't seem to get tired, does he? All this magic drains me after a while, but it seems like he could go forever."

"Oh ho, you what Harry and all?" Ron's face broke out into a wide teasing grin. Hermione blushed deeply. She had said that she loved Harry without thinking about it. She just let that slip out, even when it was a thought she had only ever whispered even in her own mind.

Ron laughed openly at her red face and Hermione shoved his shoulder, rocking him a little. "Oh shut up." But Ron just laughed more and Hermione joined in, putting her hands to her checks to cover her blush.

Suddenly Harry was there, appearing from around the corner of the bookshelf. He glanced from Ron to Hermione, frowning. "They said break time is up, we should go." Hermione nodded, pushing herself up. Behind her Ron was struggling to unfold himself. Hermione moved to help him up, but Harry moved past her, offering a hand to Ron first.

"Thanks mate," Ron said once he was standing, brushing off his clothes.

Harry just nodded, his face uncharacteristically stern.

* * *

"You did a great job with that stunning spell. It was almost nice just because Moody shut up for three seconds." Hermione was folding up her night clothes to take with her to the shower. She paused, expecting some sort of joke or a compliment about something she had done, but all she heard was a kind of noncommittal grunting sound. she turned to look at Harry, who was lying out on the bed, his hands behind his head. He was staring moodily at the wall, avoiding her eyes.

Hermione felt a stab of annoyance. So she hadn't been imagining it at all. All lesson she left like Harry wasn't talking to her as much as usual. "What's the matter?" For a long beat Hermione thought that Harry might just ignore her, but instead he looked at her and in a strange voice asked, "Getting along with the Weasleys, aren't we?"

Hermione felt taken aback, she hadn't been expecting that. "What? Yes, I suppose. They're a nice family. I thought you were getting along with them too?" Hermione sat, suddenly worried. "Have they done something to you?"

Harry shifted awkwardly on his bed, his brow furrowed. "No, they've been nice. It's just, remember, remember what you said about not trusting them completely?"

"Yes, and I don't. I'm not sure what you are talking about Harry?"

"You, I don't know, you just seemed awfully chummy with Ron earlier." Harry's voice was strained as he spoke. It seemed like he was trying to speak in a casual way, but there was stiffness in his shoulders and the edge in his tone.

Hermione felt truly puzzled. Harry was angry that she had been talking to Ron? It wasn't like she had been telling him secrets or something, why did Harry care? He spoke to Ron all the time.

It hit Hermione suddenly what this was really about. "Harry, are you perhaps … jealous?"

Harry stopped staring at the wall and looked at her in surprise. His face shifted, looking thoughtful, then apologetic. "You know, I think that you're right. I'm sorry, it's just you two looked, I don't know, cosy, sitting there together."

Hermione didn't know what to feel. She didn't find jealously cute, it was a possessive, distrustful emotion. But she knew, on some level, that she felt a little pleased. She never had someone become jealous because of her before. Hermione shoved that feeling down and instead decided to nip this problem in the bud.

"Harry… I like you. I wasn't flirting with Ron, and in fact we were talking about you. I guess that this time it can be seen as partially my fault because I haven't really told you how I feel. But now...now you know... so." Hermione felt like melting through the floor. She couldn't believe she said all that.

"You do? I mean … I like you too, Hermione. Sorry I was being a git." Harry spoke quietly, nervously glancing at her before staring at his hands. They both sat in silence, smiling stupid little smiles. With her heart in her throat, she sat down next to Harry on the bed. They stared at each other for a long moment, seemingly moving towards each other at the same time, their lips touching lightly before they moved back from each other.

They were staring at each other again, breathing a little heavier, Harry glancing down at Hermione's lips. Harry moved his hand to her head, cupping her cheek and moved in again. His lips moved against hers and Hermione put her hand on his waist, tilting her head and moving closer.

Hermione felt Harry start to move past her lips with his tongue when the door burst open to reveal Mrs. Weasley, carrying an armload of towels and looking at them with uncomfortable surprise.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't knock … I'll … I'll just drop this off and…" She looked flustered as she placed the towels on a chair and hurried back to the door.

"Th,thank you for the towels, Mrs. Weasley." The feeling of wanting to sink through the floor was back in earnest.

Mrs. Weasley paused by the door, her hand on the handle. She nodded to herself, squared her shoulders and looked back to Harry and Hermione, her voice very formal, almost business like.

"I know it really isn't my place, but you two are my children's age and I just want to make sure… Do you two have protection?"

Hermione a bolt of horror shoot down her spine. Next to her Harry let out a startled cough, looking mortified. They glanced at each other and turned more red. Mrs. Weasley watched them carefully and smiled a little, relaxing.

"I can see that it won't be a problem just yet, but still. Hermione, tomorrow I'll teach a protection spell. Harry, I'll ask Arthur to teach you one as well." Harry let out a strangled sound and started to shake his head.

"Oh don't be silly dear. Arthur and I have had six sons, it won't phase him at all to teach it one more time." Molly opened the door, looking happier than when she came in. "Good night, dears."

"Good night, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione belated whispered, the door already closed.

Harry and Hermione sat in mortified silence for a moment before she moved back to her own bed, picking up her clothes again to head off to the shower. "Well, she thoroughly squashed the mood."

"No kidding." Harry groaned a little, leaning back on his bed.

Hermione paused by the door, realizing something. "Hey, she said that they have six sons, right?"

Harry nodded, confused entering his face. "Yeah, but we've only met four, haven't we?"

"Yes, Bill, Fred, George and Ron. I wonder where the other two are?" Hermione wondered out loud.

Harry shrugged, but Hermione thought of Ginny's tightened face speaking of her family's sacrifices and felt a dark suspicion that she knew where they were.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Harry looked around the room, everything very still. It felt like the space around him was holding it's breath. Remus, Moody, Tonks, and McGonagall were slumped on the floor by the wall opposite him, Hermione in the corner closest to him. He rolled from him back to his knees and crawled his way over to her, every one of his joints aching.

He stopped beside her and touched her shoulder, "Hermione?"

Hermione's eyes blinked open and she sat up quickly, looking at Harry with raised eyebrows. The space in the room relaxed all at once, the four by the wall stirring, groaning slightly. "Harry, what on earth happened?" Hermione gripped her wand tighter and stood up, moving towards the four who were slowly starting to get up. "Is everybody okay?"

The group, all standing now, looking more grumpy than injured, nodded their heads. They all silently looked at Harry, who had pushed himself up against the wall and stood slumped against it. Hermione touched his elbow, leaning in, her face concerned. "Harry, are you okay? What happened?"

"I feel like I was hit by a car or something. I feel sore. And, I don't know, drained? I don't know what happened really. I was just trying to concentrate, but Moody kept yelling, and you and Tonks were laughing about something. I don't know, I don't… I just felt frustrated, and it felt like something snapped, in my chest, or my stomach. But neither of those places, really. It felt like…" Harry paused, his expression changing from confusion to certainty. "It felt like when I accidentally apparated, back in primary." He looked to Moody and McGonagall, speaking the last part loudly, questions in his eyes.

Remus and Tonks shared a brief concerned look, Moody scowled, and McGonagall looked thoughtful, her lips pursing further, slightly. "Mr. Potter, it appears that you did accidental magic in conjunction with your stunning spell. I am not certain, as your situations are unique, but I think that the lack of wand training has made your magic more prone to...bursts? We can't be certain, but it seems likely." McGonagall paused and glanced at the other wizards, who were nodding.

Next to him, Hermione frowned. "But I have had no such bursts and I'm in the same situation."

McGonagall sighed. "It is true, Ms. Granger, that I am mostly guessing at this point. But still, everyone's magic reacts differently to different situations. Your magic seems more controlled than Mr. Potter's, but you become fatigued more readily. I hope...I think...that both of yours magic will stabilize and become more use to wand magic with time and training."

Once again Remus and Tonks shared a look that only people who know each other well can give, a promise of a conversation later. Moody tapped his cane against the floor a couple of times, looking agitated.

"We don't have time for this." He hissed though his teeth, like a tire letting out air.

"Alastor." McGonagall said, her voice sharper and deeper.

Hermione stilled next to Harry, her face hardening.

"What don't we have time for, Moody?"

Moody shrugged, his arms moving jerkily in frustration, his normal eye glancing at McGonagall, his magical one zooming in it's disorienting fashion around the room. "Don't you worry your head, Missy." He growled softly has he passed her, clumping out of the room.

Harry raised an eyebrow at McGonagall, who looked, as always, stiff. "Alastor Moody is known for his dramatics, Mr. Potter. He is not a patient man, in normal circumstances no one in their right mind would let him be a teacher. He is … paranoid, to say the least. He wants you both to understand everything right away, because, frankly, he thinks you two are a liability in the meantime. But he is very knowledgeable and skilled, and as things are, he'll have to do." McGonagall let out a small cough and followed Moody out of the room swiftly, not making eye contact with anyone.

Hermione watched her leave with a frown on her face. She turned her head sharply to Tonks and Remus as the door closed behind her. "What are you all not telling us? What is there not time for?"

Tonks rolled her eyes and bounced closer to them, twirling her wand between her fingers. "McGonagall's right, Moody's just being impatient. He wants you to know everything all at once. Don't know why though, what's done is done. What's a few more years going to do, when it's all already been shot to hell?"

"Tonks…" Remus' voice warned from the wall.

"Reeemmuuuss," Tonks' tone was teasing, but there was something else there as well, a line of tension. They shared a long look as Tonks' wand spun out from her fingers, hitting the wall with a few purple sparks. "Oops."

Remus laughed and both of them left the room, Tonks stooping to pick up her wand as they went. "Honestly, to think that you were thinking of being an Auror, what would you have done on a stake out?" Tonks' reply was swallowed in the hallway as the door closed behind them.

Hermione spun on her heel to look at Harry, her expression tense. "Are you really okay?"

"Yeah, I'll think I'll be fine." Now it just felt like he fell down the stairs as opposed to being hit by a car.

"They are training us for something Harry, I know it. The crazy pace of these lessons, how they all seemed to be focused on combat. Now Moody has let slip that they are trying to do something in a rush. They're just trying to cover it up, you know, by saying that Moody's a bad teacher. I don't know, what if it has to do with You-Know-Who?" Hermione's fingers twirled around each other, her eyes unfocused, biting her bottom lip.

"Well, he is still after me, isn't he? He's got a grudge, and he knows who you are now. They're just trying to give as a chance if we run into him again, right?" Harry felt doubt heavy in his chest.

"They seem awful convinced that this place is safe though, that he can't get us here, so what's the rush? Not that I want to be stranded here forever anyway, but will, until this monster is gone, what are we supposed to do? Really, why are all these skilled wizards wasting time on training us so extensively when anything we learn isn't going to be much use until after the monster's gone anyway?"

"Remember, McGonagall said use to. They use to fight him. Now they are just, what? A recovery operation? A guerrilla army? What do they do all day, come to think of it? Doesn't it seem like they are waiting for something, holding out for something?" Harry supplied.

Hermione frowned, her eyes unfocused. "It seems, from what the Weasleys have said, that they use this place as a sort of safe house. For people against Voldemort and for muggleborns..." Hermione's voice trailed off, a second later replaced by a gasp and then urgent whispering. "Harry, that man, Dumbledore, he hid you with your relatives right? And when he died you were lost, but what about me? You've heard them talking about Hogwarts, right? The school we were suppose to go to? I've been reading a book about it, in a book called Hogwarts, a History."

Hermione grabbed Harry's hand and pulled him through the door, up the stairs, heading briskly to the library. She flung the door open, and headed straight for a thick old tome on the table in the corner. "It has been most informative. Apparently... hold on…" Hermione dropped Harry's hand and scanned the index, her fingers moving swiftly to the right page. "Here, look, apparently there is suppose to be a quill and a book that writes down all of the names of magical children born in the U.K. When that child is over the age of 11, they get sent a Hogwarts letter. You were hidden, but why didn't I get mine? Do you think this has to do with anything? If I hated all muggleborns and wanted to kill them, I would want to keep that book, track them down as they - we - are born..."

Hermione turned to face Harry, still biting her lip, focused. "It isn't clear how it might all be connected, or if it is, but it is at least certainly another mystery. Why didn't I get a letter? What are they training us for? Why aren't they still actively fighting You-Know-Who?" Hermione's eyes widened and she paled suddenly, grabbing Harry's hand with both of her own. "H-Harry, what if they are training us to fight You-Know-Who?"

Harry looked down at Hermione, from her concerned face, to her hands clasped over his. His mind worked many directions at once, but he couldn't seem to move off of the thought that she kept saying us. All his life, Harry had been facing things alone. Now, looking down at Hermione's face, he fully realized that it hadn't even occurred to her to think of this as his problem, or wonder how she could get out of it, get away from him. Her passion, her pulling him up the stairs, telling him things as it occurs to her. Us. Training us, hiding things from us. His heart full with, he wasn't sure, but he thought that it might be joy, Harry leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the forehead.

"They're surely up to something, but not that. It would be insane. Why would they expect two totally untrained wizards to kill this...thing, one that they together couldn't defeat?"

Hermione's face relaxed slightly, looking a little flustered, her cheeks tinted a soft pink. "I suppose you're right. I just don't know what to think."

Harry moved his hand to the back of her neck and kissed her lightly on the lips, muttering, "Well, we are dealing with witches. Perhaps they are fattening us up, then they'll sacrifice us to You-Know-Who like goats."

Hermione laughed lightly, her breath little bursts against his cheek, hitting him slightly on the shoulder as she moved her arms around him. "Harry, we're witches too, you know."

"So? We know there are good and bad witches, we're just getting tricked by some bad ones."

"Mrs. Weasley does seem awfully intent on fattening us up, but maybe they won't sacrifice us. Maybe they'll cook us instead." Hermione said, smiling a little, her cheek on his chest.

"Quick, check if the walls are chocolate." He put his chin on the top of her head, feeling the happiest he's ever felt, even in all the uncertainty.

There was a small cough by the door, Hermione and Harry pulling apart to look over. Mrs. Weasley smiled at them, "Come on dears, time for dinner."

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley." Harry and Hermione said together, Harry taking Hermione's hand as they followed her downstairs.

"I made lots of food, a whole roast beast and plenty of bread, so I expect you both to tuck in." Harry and Hermione shared a small smile behind her back, straightening their faces as Mrs. Weasley looked back at them.

"After all, no one wants to eat chewy children." Mrs. Weasley winked at them as they entered the kitchen, Harry coughing back a laugh and Hermione turning red.

* * *

Harry stared down at his book, reading the same paragraph three times in a row. On the sofa next to him Hermione's eyes moved rapidly down the page, her mouth set in concentration. Fred and George were whispering to each other on the other side of the room, leaning over some sort of paper. Harry sighed as he realized he hadn't taken in a single word and snapped his book closed. He stared at the twins instead, his mind working. Hermione said they should keep their suspicions to themselves but, really, what would they learn unless they asked? Going with the impulse, Harry cleared his throat.

"Fred, George, why didn't Hermione get a Hogwarts letter?"

Hermione's head snapped up at him, her mouth in a frown, her nostrils flaring slightly, but she too turned at looked at them, curious.

Fred and George got quiet and looked at each other, communicating silently in a series of shrugs and eyebrow movement. Finally, one of them gave a kind of grunt and they looked at Harry and Hermione, unusually solemn expressions on their faces.

"We do know the reason why."

"Though we aren't suppose to."

"Like that's ever stopped us."

"Anyway, the story is actually quiet the sad one in its way, and there is a long tale to it."

"But basically McGonagall destroyed the book and quill that records the student's names." They said the last sentence in whispered unison. One glanced at the other, who nodded and started talking, this time alone.

"It was apparent that You-Know-Who was coming into power again, everybody was scared. Then when Dumbledore died, Hogwarts fell under his control too. McGonagall was the second in line after Dumbledore and everyone knew she supported Dumbledore and muggleborns. She knew that they would be after her soon, so she took the book and ran."

Here the other twin interrupted. "Which was no easy feat. That book was not suppose to leave Hogwarts. You could say it was like the heart of the place. The four founders, they made that book together."

"Though Slytherin wasn't happy that it included muggleborns in it too."

The twins shared a glance again, and this time the other continued. "But McGonagall was able to convince the castle that she would keep it safe, somehow, that it was necessary. McGonagall was on the run with it for a time, but one day she was cornered and she had no choice."

"She had to destroy it, she couldn't let the death eaters take it, lest they track down and kill all the muggleborns. So she cast some sort of spell, we think, and it burned."

They frowned at each other and leaned in closer, speaking even more quietly. "From what we heard, it nearly destroyed her to do it. The death eaters, they took her and tortured her and everything after, and she was rescued. But from the sounds of it, it wasn't the torture that really got to her, it was destroying that book."

"Yeah, you can't even mention it around her without her finding a reason to run out of the room."

Hermione looked at them, frowning and thoughtful.

Harry cleared his throat. "It sounds like that book was a big deal, but I don't really understand…"

"Like I've said, the book was kind of the heart of Hogwarts, wasn't it? When McGonagall destroyed it, it ruined Hogwarts."

"The building is still there, and kids are being taught awful things by death eaters there, and magic is still there, but we've heard it's just not the same."

"Yeah, it was apparently the biggest blow to You-Know-Who that our side has done."

"That is until Harry up and un-died again."

"By all accounts You-Know-Who is still furious about it, wants to kill her more than you in some ways."

"Yeah, McGonagall isn't too popular with anyone, really, even people who don't like Who-Know-Who."

"I suppose you can't up and kill Hogwarts without some backlash, eh?"

* * *

Her shirt didn't smell like her parent's house anymore. The Weasley's had given her new clothes, left over things and a few new items. Mrs. Weasley washed the clothes that she had had on when she left, but Hermione asked her not to wash the shirt that had been under her jumper. The jumper smelled like smoke and desperation, but her shirt had still smelled of her home. Sniffing it now, as the house got quieter, though somehow never still, around her, all she could smell was the musty scent of the room.

She wanted to be in her room, her parents flirtatious bickering coming softly up the stairs from the living room. She wanted to be in a class in Oxford, learning, maybe even making friends with like minded people. She didn't want to be stuck in the gloomiest house in all of Britain, getting trained by mysterious witches for unknown purposes.

Across the room a small groan came the shifting lumps on the bed. Hermione glanced over at Harry, a small smile on her face. Perhaps she didn't want to be here, doing this, but she did want to be with him. And, glancing at her wand on her nightstand, she did want magic.

The lumps moved around more, another longer groan coming from Harry. Hermione frowned and padded over to him, moving carefully in the dark room. She looked down at his form, his face in shadow, his hands twitching above the blanket. He was having a nightmare. "Harry, wake up. Wake up." Hermione shook his shoulder gently.

"Mr. Alberic, I'm sorry, I…" Harry sat up gasping, his hand grabbing at Hermione's wrist.

"It's just a nightmare, it's all right." Hermione gasped, a little alarmed at the strength of his grip.

Harry glanced up at her face, his hand letting go of her immediately. "H-Hermione, I'm sorry. You startled me, I was, I was having a dream." He swallowed thickly, his hands coming up to his face, resting his elbows against his knees. "A bad dream."

"I could tell, let me go get you some warm water, it might help settle you." Hermione moved towards the door as Harry's hand shot out and took hers gently. "No! No, please. C-could you just sit here with me for a moment?" He looked up her, his eyes shining slightly in the dim lights from the window.

"Of course." Hermione sat on the edge of his bed, pulling his hand into her lap, making circular motions on the back of his hand with her thumb. Harry's breath slowly evened and then became a little hitched as the minutes wore on.

"Could you stop doing that?" Harry muttered, making heat raise up her neck. She paused, considering, before starting again. "No, I don't want to." She smiled back at him in the dark, a smile that came from somewhere in her that she never felt before, that made her aware of the outline of her body.

Harry let out a small, strangled sound and shifted upwards abruptly, looping his other arm around Hermione's waist and pulling her towards him as he moved towards her. His mouth met hers hungrily, not holding a trace of the shy gentle kisses they had shared so far. He rolled so that she pulled over him, lying next to him. He went up on his elbow, leaning over her, his tongue moving in strong, slow circles around her mouth, tangling with hers.

He broke away from her mouth and Hermione took a gasp of air. Harry moved to her neck, making her hand clutch at his shoulders reflexively. For once in her life, the rational part of her brain was struggling to take control of her thoughts. But even as she breathed out a soft sound of pleasure when Harry moved to her ear, Hermione couldn't help but note the shaking of his hands, the frantic pace of his breath that seemed too fast, even for someone doing this.

Hermione reached and lightly grasped Harry's hand, her other hand pushing gently at his shoulder. "H-Harry...Ah, yes...no, I mean, no, Harry, stop."

Harry pulled away from her, breathing heavily, still looming over her. He swallowed and sat up quickly. "God, I'm sorry Hermione. I didn't mean to, to, bounce on you like that. I didn't even make sure you wanted to."

Hermione snorted a little. "Oh no, I was right there with you, Harry. It's just, I don't know. You seem...upset?" Hermione sat up too, peering at Harry's barely lit profile against the street lights coming in through the curtains. She spoke just above a whisper, "Do you want to talk about it?"

There was a long moment of silence as Harry's breath hitched a few times, stopping sentences before they even started. Finally, he looked at her, his face cast into darkness, his head outlined by the light. "Hermione, everyone I know dies. It's too many now to be coincidence, isn't it? My parents, Mr. Alberic, the Dursleys. What if it's you next? It would make sense if it was you next. What if I'm cursed Hermione? What if I'm suppose to be alone? Sometimes I wish I had never met you. God, that's not true. That's not true at all. Sometimes I wish that I met you as someone else, someone who didn't bring you here, that didn't kill everyone like poison. I wish I had the strength to push you away. I should have done it ages ago, when I knew that those dreams weren't fake. I should have seen the mark in the sky and ran, and never spoke to you again, no matter how stubborn you are. I don't know what I'll do if something happens to you Hermione, what if I get you killed too?"

Hermione stared into his face, wishing that she could see his expression. She touched his cheek and then pulled him down gently with her until they were both lying on the bed, facing each other. "Harry Potter, first know that whatever happens, I'm happy I met you. Second, I don't think you're cursed. What, is there some statement out there, some prophecy, that says you have to be alone? And I admit, you've been unlucky so far, but obviously your luck changed when you met me." Hermione put on a fake arrogant voice, miming flicking her hair over her shoulder. She felt rather than saw Harry smile, she put her hand over his, her voice serious again. "But Harry, I, I don't know if I have any right to say this, I've never lost anybody really, but it seems to me, it seems that, it's better to have people to lose than to not have anybody to lose at all. A rich man has to worry about his treasures being stolen, but would he feel any better as a pauper? You might lose me, and I might lose you, but isn't it better to have known each other?"

Harry moved her hand to his lips, pressing lightly against the back of her hand, then her palm, and then her wrist. "I suppose so, Hermione, I hope."

* * *

"Oh my God, sorry, sorry!" Ginny squeaked as she slammed the door behind her. From the hall she yelled, "I really should have knocked first, sorry."

Hermione and Harry sit up, blearily looking at each other in the light of the morning. "No, Ginny come back, this is a misunderstanding." Hermione yelled back as she rubbed the tiredness from her eyes. Harry swung his legs to sit on the edge of the bed as Ginny comes back in, her face red.

"We just fell asleep like this while we were talking, I swear."

"Yeah, but you should definitely knock from now on, someday it might be the reason you thought."

"Harry!" Hermione punching him on the arm as Ginny sat down on Hermione's bed across from them.

"Sure, I'm sure you two were just reviewing your study plans like that." Ginny said, rolling her eyes.

"What's up Ginny?" Hermione yawned.

"Mum sent me up to get you. It's nearly time for lunch. The others had to run off to do something and Mom thought you two could do with a lie in, which, apparently you did."

"What are the other's up to?" Hermione asked, moving to get clothes from their shared dresser.

There was a long pause and Hermione turned to look at Ginny, who was staring out the window, frowning. "Nothing smart, probably."

There was another long silence as Hermione stared down at the clothes she had picked, folding them and refolding them in her hands.

Harry coughed and with a strange hearty voice said, "So, I've been meaning to ask you for sometime now, whose house is this?"

Ginny looked down at her hands, blinking, and then turned red and started to squirm uncomfortably where she sat.

"Ah, well, technically I'm not suppose to tell you. Or rather, I'm suppose to tell someone else you asked and they are suppose to explain, but, well … everyone is so busy and, God, you know, you really have the right to know. Also, it's not like you would kick us out, haha, no, I don't think so...right?" Ginny asked, looking up at Harry with a conflicted face.

"Uh, well, it would help to know what you are talking about, but generally I don't go kicking people out of places." Harry glanced at Hermione, his eyebrow raised in question as Ginny looked down at her hands again. Hermione could only shrug back, just as baffled.

Ginny took a deep breath and spoke, "Well… the thing is … actually… you see… Uh...right, so, the house is actually yours." Ginny looked at Harry, a strange expression on her face, almost like she was trying to emote a fearful tada.

"What?" Harry and Hermione said at the same time.

Hermione asked "Why?!" just as Harry exclaimed, "How?!"

Ginny glanced from Harry to Hermione, shaking her head. "I don't actually know all the details, which is why, I suppose, they wanted someone else to explain it. But from what I gathered, this house use to belong to Sirius Black, who has quite the backstory, let me tell you. But, but basically, what you have to know was that he inherited this house and let the Order use it for headquarters. He was also your Godfather, Harry, apparently really close with your father. Remus was too, you know. You should ask him about it sometime. Anyway, he left everything to you. He died a many number of years ago. Of course, you were just a child still, and a missing one at that, so we just...kept using it. It became fully legally yours when you were seventeen, but you know, still missing then, so, um, we just kept on using it. And, hey, you're here now...so...yeah." Ginny gave Harry another, slightly pained looking smile. "Haha, yeah, they probably should have mentioned this to you right away, but you know, busy… and...whatnot."

Harry and Hermione stared at Ginny as she squirmed sitting on the bed. "So let me get this straight. Your whole family and all of the Order were…are… squatting here?"

Ginny stammered, "Hmmm, well, I don't know if I would put it that way…" as Harry broke out in loud peals of laughter.

"I-I have a house… and...and you all are, haha, you all, stern Ms. McGonagall, haha, squatting in it...I can't, I can't breath." Hermione started laughing with him.

Ginny stamped her foot down, huffing. "Why is it you all ask me the hard questions when I come wake you up? Why don't you ever do this to Mum or Dad? Why me?" Which just made Harry and Hermione laugh harder. Ginny crossed her arms in front of her chest, her mouth twitching as she fought not to join them.

Ginny broke into a smile just as the door burst open, revealing a stormy looking Moody. As he clumped in, Harry and Hermione's laughter died, Ginny's smile sliding off her face. McGonagall moved swiftly in after him, looking at Moody with anger. Remus stood in the doorway, his face blank.

"While you all were in here, laughing away, one more good person died." Moody growled out, both of his eyes focused on Harry. The room was tensely silent.

Ginny shakily stood. "W-Who?"

Moody's eye rolled to the back of his head, leaving the white facing Harry and Hermione. "Aye, Lass, sorry for scaring you, your own are fine." Ginny let out a deep breath and slumped back onto the bed.

Moody's eye circled quickly back to the front, both eyes again focusing on Harry. "We lost Kingsley today."

This statement was met with a moment of tense silence. McGonagall stiffened, if possible, further. Ginny let another shaky breath, and whispered almost inaudibly, "Oh, no." Remus sniffed by the doorway, his eyes tinged with red, his face blank.

Hermione glanced between Moody and Harry, who were staring at each other, Moody with a dark anger, Harry with confusion. "I'm sorry to hear that, was-was he a friend?"

"Yes, a good friend and a good man, Mr. Potter. Alastor, we are all upset, but this isn't the answer. You'll do more harm than good. If we just continue…"

"We can't just continue, damn you!" Moody suddenly roared, making everyone in the room jump. "There is no time, Minerva, there is hardly anything left to save!"

"Alastor, pull yourself together. Rushing things won't help, we will only lose our last hope too, just as we found him."

Moody and McGonagall glared at each other, tension and the feeling of pinpricks of magic building in the room. Remus sighed from the door, rubbing his face with his hands. "I think you both are wrong." Both Moody and McGonagall snapped their faces towards him, their eyebrows raised. "It never made any sense, really. A boy going against him. Clearly there is something at play we don't know about. On one hand, Moody is right, you could train him forever and he'll never be ready. On the other hand, Professor McGonagall is right too, training him so hard he hates us all won't help either, and even if you trained without sleep, you'll never catch him up to his skill. So really, you both are wrong."

"So what now, Remus, all hope is lost?" McGonagall whispered, her voice strained, her face white with anger. "I have to admit, I expected better of you. You of all people know that there are solutions where it seems like there are none."

Then Remus' face hardened. "Yes, Minerva, I am well aware. I am also aware that the solutions aren't always obvious. That is what I am saying. I think that we should tell him. Tell him everything. Maybe he will have something to say that we haven't thought of. Because, frankly, we have nothing."

McGonagall stared at Remus a long moment before nodding silently to herself. She glanced at Moody, who, after another long moment nodded too, his eyes moving to the wall. McGonagall instead stared down at Harry, her face for an agonizing second exposed, showing grief mixed with something unreadable. She spoke softly, "You know, you look so much like your father, but you have your mother's eyes. I wanted… I had hoped…" McGonagall's eyes swam with tears, but she blinked once, and her mask was back on, looking immovable. "Yes, well, hopes from the past aside…"

"Wait, Minerva, I think I should say it. I think it would be best." Remus said from the door. McGonagall nodded her head, turning away from Harry, pulling Moody back towards the window. Remus crouched, taking the hand Hermione wasn't already holding and looked up into Harry's face, looking for all the world like an uncle telling a young boy that his parents weren't coming back and he had to live with him now.

"Harry, it has been foretold, we need you to, you have to...Harry, you have to kill He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

When Harry was ten he hid from his cousin and his friends behind the bins to the side of his primary school. Generally Harry didn't have a hard time outrunning or outsmarting his piggish cousin, but he had just come out from a long stint in the cupboard. He had been feeling light headed all day. This, paired with the bruise he had on his side from his uncle's casual shove into the table at breakfast, meant that he just wasn't up to a long chase.

But it wasn't like he could turn to Dudley and say, "Hey, I'm just really not feeling well today, perhaps tomorrow? Out of a sense of sportsmanship?" Dudley would just laugh and punch him right where he knew he was already hurt. As Harry sat curled up behind the bins, trying to catch his breath, his hand curled around his side, he knew he couldn't do it. Not that day. He just couldn't hear one more mean word, take one more hit, feel one more pair eyes look at him like he was nothing. Worse than nothing, a black hole, as though his existence was sucking light and air from the very room.

He couldn't do it. It just had to stop, somehow. He needed a break. He tried to remember a time that wasn't like this. Taking deep breaths through his mouth in order to not smell the trash, he tried to think. His mind swam through endless lessons, classmates drawing pictures of their families. He thought of working in the backyard, mud between his fingers. He thought of Mrs. Figg's cats, how they wandered the streets for food after she went missing and nobody came to get her things. He remembered a black cat, staring down at him from the branches of a tree, it's eyes golden, watching Harry work, his fingers in the grass wiping off the mud, the tree swaying against the bright blue sky. He remember the sky, a feeling like flying, a faint sound of an engine. Did he remember that? It was like a dream in a dream.

But he tried to hold on to the feeling, flying safe in the vast blue. He was just starting to catch his breath fully when he heard the boys. They had picked up sticks along the way and were hitting them against the walls and the pavement, their words indistinct but their laughs were sharp. He couldn't do it, he couldn't do it, he just wanted to fly. He couldn't do…

And then Harry felt his insides twist, his very body feeling like it was being compressed, just for a brief moment. He opened his eyes and for a wonderful, thrilling moment all he could see was blue stretched out before him. He had done it, he was flying. But there was a solid heat beneath him, and he looked over in surprise to see the tiles of the school roof. Below him he heard cruel little boys wonder at the sound they just heard, and wonder at where he was. Harry knew, suddenly exhausted, even though he had somehow ended up somewhere different than he where he was, even though he had tricked himself for a moment, he hadn't escaped. Nothing was different.

Harry felt that way once more, deep into his bones, as he stared down into Remus' concerned, compassionate face.

Next to him, Hermione shook.

"What...What could you possibly be thinking? Prophecy? There are prophecies? I can't, that's just too… Are you saying there is no free will?" Hermione's face was red, her hair seemed bigger, as though the curls were filled with electric indignation. Harry stared at her, as though from a great distance. He wondered at how, even now, he still could feel a spark of joy just looking at her. He thought vaguely, as though his thoughts were coming through a thick fog bank to the shores of his conscious, about how nice it would be if it was just him and her somewhere, anywhere, just them.

"Prophecies are prophetic because they come true, but it doesn't necessarily negate free choice. Prophecies are very difficult to interpret correctly, and there are multiple ways to reach different conclusions." Remus said calmly, glancing between Harry and Hermione, still crouching.

Hermione's postured changed, her face became her normal color, her face closed, her eyes looked sharp. Her tone changed to something like authority, the calm interrogator. "Do you know the prophecy? If so, tell us now."

"Y-Yes, I remember it, it's rather burned into my memory." Remus stared at Hermione, a little startled, sensing a shift in her. He stood to his full height and whispered, "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"

There was silence in the room, Harry watched as Hermione absorbed the words and turned them over in her mind. Her questions came rapidly.

"Harry was born July thirty-first, so that was the reference to the seventh month dying, yes?"

"Yes."

"I assume that Harry's parents defied that monster three times?"

"Yes."

"And Harry was the only baby at the time who matched that criteria?"

"No."

Hermione paused, the silence asking the question for her.

Remus continued, "There was another, named Neville Longbottom. He was born July thirtieth. His family also fought against You-Know-Who."

Hermione, swallowed and looked at Harry, her eyes brushing over his scar.

"But that monster chose Harry? His scar, he marked him as an equal?"

"Yes."

"So then You-Know-Who believes in this prophecy?"

"Yes."

"That means he was after me, not my parents?" Harry asked quietly, staring at the wall.

Remus and Hermione looked at him, frowning.

"He was after all of you." Remus said with quiet conviction. "Don't put that on your shoulder's too, Harry."

Harry nodded, his expression blank except for a slight crease between his eyebrows.

"And this power, the power he knows not. What is it?" Hermione asked, her tone still sharp.

"We don't know, " McGonagall answered, still staring out the window.

"You don't know?" Hermione asked, her voice now becoming acidic.

Moody spoke, his back still turned away from them. "Even without knowing about magic, even without a wand, he was able to do more damage to the Dark Lord than we have been able to do in a decade, so there is something about him."

"No," Harry added looking over at them, the smallest of smiles on his lips. "That was a fluke, a one off. I lost, he'd killed me very easily. It was just that I had a bit of him in me, right? I don't any more. Next time he throws that green curse at me, I'm dead. Really dead." The room was silent.

"Well, that's why we're training you boy, so we can learn what it is that…"

"No," Hermione said, standing. "We saw him. I saw him already kill…" Hermione's voice broke a little. "I already saw him kill Harry. Once was more than enough. He has been studying magic all his life. We have had a few months. You have to find a new prophecy because clearly this one is no longer applicable. Beyond that, I just can't accept it. I can't accept prophecies are real." Hermione looked around the room, everyone avoiding her eyes except Ginny.

"But what else should you do? You-Know-Who is going to go after Harry until he dies. Especially now that you've hurt him again as an adult." Ginny looked between them.

"We'll hide. Harry doesn't have a mental connection to him any more. We will go to my parent's in Australia. We should have done that in the first place."

"We already explained that he could find you there. We can protect you better here." Remus said, glancing back at McGonagall and Moody.

Hermione scoffed. "That's a lie. You want him here so you can train him to be your little soldier, so he can finish your war for you. He would be safer in a Australia, wouldn't he? But you want him here, to kill your dictator. But guess what? Prophecies can't be real because we have choice. Why would we train ourselves for a suicide mission?" Hermione's voice became increasingly harsh as she spoke, her last sentence coming out more of a hiss than a yell.

"Because he isn't the Order's dictator, Hermione, he's our dictator. He is your dictator, he is Harry's dictator. He stole everything good from us, from the Wizarding world. And what's your solution? Run and hide? For the rest of your lives?" Ron spoke passionately from the doorway, causing everyone to look over at him.

Hermione's eyes filled with tears. "How dare you? You want to make martyrs of us?"

Ginny stood now, her eyes fixed on Hermione. "You said that it was great that my family made sacrifices to help others, even though it wasn't necessarily our fight. And now that's your turn, now that it's your loved ones who might die, it's suddenly our war, our dictator, our problem and not yours?"

Hermione stared at Ginny, her mouth opening and closing, pale. "I already saw him die. I already saw him fall over, no life in his eyes. You can't ask me to see it again. You can't ask that." Hermione sobbed, burying her face in her hands.

Slowly Harry stood up and put his arm around Hermione's shaking shoulders. "You all are forgetting something important. We can argue about whether it's fair to expect me to fight until our faces are blue, but ultimately, we have to remember, I'm not special."

The room stared at him in silence for a moment, then Ron spoke. "Hate to break it to you again, mate, but you are special. You have survived the killing curse twice. You faced him twice, without even knowing spells and came out on top. That is special."

Harry looked at him for a moment and then down at Hermione, whose breathing was becoming more steady. She looked up at him, her face splotchy. He rubbed her shoulder and spoke quietly, as though he was only speaking to her, though the whole room listened with attention. "It was a fluke, I've said that. I was a baby the first time. I clearly didn't do anything. The monster made a mistake, or my mom and dad did some unknown magic. The second time you already know. It's not something that I can do again."

"So what, you're just going to let him continue on? We just have to let him continue on? You're the Boy-Who-Lived. You're our last hope." Ron said emotionally, taking a couple of staggered steps toward him.

Harry looked back up around the room. "I just don't know what you expect me to do. You told me all this in the hopes that I knew something that you don't, but I don't. You're hopes are misplaced."

The room stood again in a tense silence. Harry looked down at Hermione, again talking only to her. "Would you really feel comfortable just running away now, though?"

Hermione sighed. "If it meant that you would be safe, yes. You should prioritize yourself more. You all should prioritize him more. He is a teenager, not a weapon, not your last hope." Hermione glared around the room, eyes glancing away from hers. "It is absurd that you should put the toppling of a corrupted society on his shoulders like it's only natural. You all also keep forgetting that to me, this prophecy is not important outside of the fact that it drives that monster to kill Harry."

Hermione glanced up into Harry's eyes briefly, her face softening. She bit her lip, looking uncertain. "But you are right. I don't feel comfortable just leaving things as is and hiding. This did become our war as soon as we learned about it. Magic is our birthright and the birthright of many others like us. We were all denied our freedoms, our identities."

Hermione turned to look at the rest of the room. "It is idiotic to ask Harry to kill You-Know-Who, but that doesn't mean we can't help."

Harry grabbed her hand and squeezed it for a second, a silent agreement. "What about those loose pieces of his soul? It sounds like he can't die until we take care of those anyway. We could help out with that? We could leave the actual fight to the death to a better wizard?" Harry suggested, glancing at Hermione who nodded in agreement.

Ginny, Ron and Remus looked contemplative. McGonagall and Moody exchanged quick looks.

After a beat McGonagall spoke. "No."

"Excuse me?" Hermione asked, taken aback.

"No. We are looking for the pieces of his soul, the Horcruxes, and we will destroy them. It is too dangerous a task for Mr. Potter. We need him to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. See, Ms. Granger, you might not hold stock in this prophecy, but we do. Mr. Potter has a skill we don't know about yet, and we will find it."

"You all don't listen too well, do you? I already told you twice that I am not special, I don't have any skill…"

"No, boy, you are the one who isn't listening. You do have a skill and we will work you until we find it. After we find it, you will face off against him, and you will defeat him." Moody growled out over McGonagall's shoulder.

Hermione opened her mouth, furious. McGonagall cut her off before she could start. "No. This discussion is over. You want to help? You help Mr. Potter train for this fight, Ms. Granger. That's it. That's all any of us can do. Everyone here is willing to do that. Everyone out, we are done for now. Ms. Granger, Mr. Potter, do what you need to to come to terms with this."

Everyone stared at McGonagall and then, glancing between Harry and Hermione and her, one by one shuffled out of the room. Remus stood in the doorway, looking like he wanted to speak, but McGonagall closed the door behind her, leaving Harry and Hermione standing in the center of the room, their hands clasped, alone.

After a beat Harry turned towards her, "What a day we are having, huh?" Harry said, giving Hermione a lopsided smile.

Hermione stared up into his face, the strange lines of tension across it, the glossy far away look of his eyes and burst into angry tears.

Harry stared at her in shock. "H-Hermione, I'm sorry. I-I was just trying for some levity. Why- I mean, I didn't mean to...What?" Harry grabbed both of Hermione's shoulders, looking panicked. The look on his face made Hermione want to laugh but it came out as another loud sob. Harry stared down at her, his eyes concentrating. Hermione was reminded of an image, from some movie or a show, of someone desperately looking at an alarm clock, trying to figure out how turn it off.

Hermione reached up at patted his chest. "N-no. No- you-you're fine, Harry. I-I'm just so an-angry." Hermione let out a loud hiccup and sighed in exasperation at herself. Harry led them to his bed and sat them down, his hand still on Hermione's shoulder. Hermione wiped at her face and took a deep breath through her nose.

Her hands balled into fists on her legs, her lips still trembling, Hermione choked out her words. "It's just not fair. It's not at all fair. Why would they say that? What could they possibly be thinking?"

Harry nodded and sighed, clasping his hands in front of him, his leg shaking nervously. "I know. Anyone who's met me for more than five minutes knows that I'm not special. We've seen that monster, we know how strong he is. I can't imagine what training they think they could possible give me that would make it possible for me to…"

"No." Hermione turned to look at him, her anger turning to embers. "That's not the point. I do think you're special. I think you're amazing. But you can't be expected to learn enough to defeat a magically powerful evil dictator. I'm just beyond, completely beyond, disbelief that they expect you to."

"I dunno, they seem to be taking that prophecy seriously. That monster is too, and he is surely evil and insane, but I don't think he's stupid. I don't know… I don't think that he would chase after prophecies if there wasn't anything to them." Harry let out a long shaky breath.

Hermione stared at him, emotion swelling slowly from her stomach, raising and placing pressure in her chest, resting heavy in her throat. "Fuck them."

Harry snapped his face back to hers, his eyebrows raised, a small surprised smile on his lips. "Hermione, who knew…"

"I'm serious Harry. We have to find answers, answers away from them. They are going to train you for... god knows what they are going to make you do. Did you hear him? Moody? 'We will work you until we find it.' It's wrong Harry. They're wrong, I know it. That's not the way. Say this stupid, awful, hateful prophecy is correct. Say that you have some power he knows not. Well, it's a power he knows not, right? They are going to train you in combat magic Harry, more intensely than they have done so far. But I think we are both pretty sure that he knows combat magic."

Harry sighed. "And it doesn't seem like they are going to listen to us, given that little showing."

Hermione nodded, gritting her teeth, angry again all at once. "Treating you like some sort of warrior. Ginny! Ginny throwing her family's sacrifices back in my face, like that makes forcing you to sacrifice yourself okay. I-I can't bare it, it makes me so angry."

Harry looked at her, a strange, tender expression on his face. "I can understand them, kind of. They've lost so much. And here they have this thing telling them I can save them. What's my life to the freedom of the wizarding world? What's my life to no more muggleborns dying? To that monster being gone?"

Hermione felt a unsteady sort of terror fill her. Hermione cupped his cheeks with shaking hands. "Harry, you can't mean that. You-you can't think so little of yourself…Wh-what if it was me? Hmm? What if it was me? Would you think that? Would you gladly shove me in front of him, to save the wizarding world?"

Harry lightly gripped her wrists, but didn't move her hands away, a pained look on his face. "That's completely different."

"How!"

"Because! Because you're you and I'm me. You're Hermione Granger, beautiful, smart, sweet. You have doctor parents who love you more than the world and a bright, beautiful future. I'm, I'm…"

"What?" Hermione whispered.

"I'm nothing." Harry whispered back, a broken little grin cutting the corners of his lips.

Hermione's hands fell from his face and clutched at his shoulders. "No. Oh, God, that's why...that's why you stepped in front of me so easily, you fool. You great stupid idiot." Hermione couldn't look away from his face. She couldn't look away from the truth there, he believed it.

"I'm so sorry, Harry. I'm sorry you believe that. I can't let this go on." Harry's face stiffened. Hermione's hands feel limp into Harry's lap. Her head felt heavy. She strangely thought of her eighteenth birthday just then, a memory swimming to the surface from a lifetime ago. Harry's face, his eye winking in mischief as he called the restaurant to attention, to sing her a loud and loving Happy Birthday.

"I don't know what to do to convince you… what to say." Hermione looked back up at him.

"It's alright Hermione, it's...I'm glad that you are...are coming to your senses." Harry's tone was hard to read. His face looked empty.

Hermione shook her head, confused. "I just don't know what to say to make someone you love believe that they are worth something. That to me, you are worth the world. I would usually just, I don't know, punch anyone who said you were nothing, but you said it, so I just…"

Harry's face changed, like watching a flower in bloom, he seemed to light up almost in spite of himself, except for the electric fear in his eyes. "What? What to say to someone you…"

Hermione was even more confused now, it felt like they were having two different conversations. "Love. I love you, and you just said something horrible about yourself, and I'm not sure how to handle this. I mean, self-esteem has to come from within so I know that I can't, I don't know, make you love yourself…"

Harry kissed her. It was neither gentle nor rough. Hermione wasn't even sure, outside of the physical resemblance of a kiss, lips against lips, that it was a kiss. All she felt was his need. Like he had cried in her arms all night, or like the first morning hug the day after a wedding, like walking into your home after a bad day and letting out a long needed breath. It was all those things wrapped into one, shakily placed on her lips through his lips.

They broke apart, breathing heavily. Harry's eyes moved all over her face again and again, as though trying to memorize her.

Hermione didn't know what to think, she tried to regain her footing. "So-So you see my point then? I think we should leave. They're too willing to sacrifice you. They will only listen to one way of looking at things. They only information we have is from them. I think we need to get out of here."

Harry nodded, his face still somehow lighter looking, even though his expression was serious. "I do think it would be good to hear from others. I think this little group is … ill? I don't know, something isn't right. I'd like to leave. But I don't want to run away. Which is to say, I don't want to just hide. I think we need to learn more. Learn more about what we can realistically do."

Hermione smiled wide at him, nodding. "I completely agree."

They sat there, nodding and smiling like idiots to each other for a moment before Harry's face folded into concern. "Where are we supposed to go? My family's dead, your family's in Australia, we don't know any other wizards… And, I actually forgot for a minute, but remember that whole I'm wanted by the police bit? Oh, and also we have no money."

The smiles were both fully gone from their faces. Hermione sat back in concentration. There was a long moment of silence, both trying to think. Hermione sat upright, clutching at Harry's arm. "The house! The house is yours, Harry."

Harry shook his head. "It may legally be mine, but we don't have the legal ability to take the house back from them right now. We can hardly wander into the You-Know-Who controlled police or bank and ask them to kindly kick out the Order for us, can we? Plus, Plus, I don't know. I feel like we need to get away from them. But-I don't think they're bad people." Harry looked embarrassed, as though he spoke before he fully thought. He glanced at Hermione.

Hermione narrowed her eyes, half thoughtful, half angry. "I certainly wouldn't call them good people, right now."

Harry nodded. "I'm not sure what I'm trying to say. I just, I don't think that they're the real enemy."

"Despite their willingness to throw you under the bus, I think I know what you mean." Hermione sighed. Just above a whisper she added, "And I don't think that they'll do anything more to my parents."

Harry glanced at her, uncertain of what to say and changed topics with a sigh. "Blimey, and I had a fair amount of money saved from work, too, getting ready to move out. Of course I won't have access to my bank account now. If I could clear my name with the police…"

"Yes, that would be preferred, but it's dangerous for you to be publicly captured like that. From the newspapers, we known your relative's murders and your disappearance were pretty big news for a bit. They'd write about your capture, or surrender, or whatever, for sure. It would make finding you too easy for, well, everybody."

Harry scowled, frustrated.

"I know that I'm wanted for questioning about you, and about where my family went, but I'm not actually charged with anything. I think I'm considered a victim still. But the point is that I should be able to access my bank account at least. The bank might report seeing me, but we could just disappear again. I had a fair bit saved up as well, for school."

Harry hesitated. "I wish we didn't have to take your money."

She rolled her eyes and lightly laughed. "Yes, you'll just have to be my deadbeat boyfriend, living off of my money as we run from the law."

Harry's grimaced. "Don't laugh, that is exactly what that is."

Hermione suppressed the urge to giggle and poked him in the side. "Oh stop, that is not what that that is at all." Harry looked like he was going to pursue the subject, a worried angry look on his face. Hermione hurriedly changed the subject.

"What we have to think of next is where to go."

Harry took a breath, like he was about to speak but then stopped himself. He glanced at Hermione, hesitant, his leg shaking again. He licked his lips. "Well, uh, I might kind of know of a place. But will, it's not very… good."

Hermione raised her eyebrows at him, "It doesn't have to be nice, Harry, we don't have a lot of options going right now…"

Harry shook his head, "Will, see, it's not overly legal. The thing is, when I was trying to leave the Dursley's, there were times where it didn't seem like I was ever going to save up enough money to get out, or it felt like I needed to leave, leave as soon as possible. So I looked into … alternative ideas."

Hermione watched him struggle to spit it out, nervous.

"Squatting. I found some areas that looked like they would work, some abandoned houses… "

Hermione felt her jaw clench, swallowed thickly, and forced herself to think about it.

"It's...It's not ideal, but, you know...It might actually work. And what I'm I saying...it's the only idea that we have."

Harry sighed, looking agitated. "So we have your money and squatting as a plan so far. Very solid."

Hermione bit her lip. "Well, I have been looking at some books… books on magical Britain. I thought that while we are hiding out, we can, I don't know, disguise ourselves and explore it a bit. Learn about it ourselves. We can focus on magical theory, and things that the Order hasn't been telling us about. As for long term plans…"

Hermione frowned. "I can't believe I'm saying this, me, who color coded my Odd Moments under different categories but, we will just have to wing it." She looked at Harry like she expected him to laugh at her.

Harry just nodded, solemn. "Until we have more information, we can't plan for the long term anyway. Also… I think that we should leave soon, as soon as possible. The morning at the latest."

Hermione paled. "You're right. The longer we wait, the harder it will be to leave, now that they are being openly hostile."

Harry and Hermione stared at each other,stressed. Hermione couldn't help but listen to the doubtful voice in the back of her mind saying that a few thousand pounds, an abandoned house, and a sightseeing tour of a belligerent magical nation was hardly a good plan. But she looked at Harry, his serious face, his nervous leg, thought of his words of being nothing, and knew that they couldn't stay, not for even a day longer.

Hermione took a deep breath and held up her wand, shakily saying, "And hey, we have these, we have magic. That has to be kind of useful, no?"

Harry gave her a weak smile back. "Yeah, and so does everyone else against us."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

When Hermione was fifteen she had wandered into the kitchen where her mum was doing the dishes and her father was leaning against the counter, tea in hand, teasing his wife. Hermione interrupted them by huffing and tossing a book onto the table with a dull thunk. Her parents turned to look at her, eyebrows raised.

"Hermione? What's got you in a twist?" Her father frowned.

Hermione scowled. "This...This stupid book. Or play, rather."

Her father leaned forward and looked at the cover, letting out a surprised bark of laughter.

"Hermione, that's Shakespeare."

"Yes, and I expected better of him."

Hermione's mother dried her hands and turned at looked the book too, curious. She saw the book title and shared a surprised and confused look with her husband.

"It's Romeo and Juliet, Hermione. It's his most famous play."

"Yes, and I see why now, because most people are stupid and therefore would like his stupidest play the best. Of course I already knew the plot, but I always thought there was more to it. I assumed that when I read it there would be something, something … I don't know, more?" Hermione sat down with a dejected sigh, covering the cover of the book with her hand.

"Most people are stupid? That's not very nice Hermione." Her father sounding parental, in that tone that sounds both stern and amused.

Hermione's mother elbowed him lightly in the side before pouring two more cups tea and handing one to Hermione. "I'm afraid this is going to need more of an explanation. I never thought I would hear you disparage Shakespeare."

Hermione rolled her eyes and held up the book with a frown. "Stupid teenagers fall in love stupidly fast and make stupid choices and then stupidly die. It's awful and, and …"

"Stupid?" Charles supplied, grinning.

"Haha. But, yes, essentially."

"You weren't moved by their passionate young love, Hermione? I thought teenagers were all about it."

"Most teenagers, sure. But not me, I think it's ridiculous."

Hermione's parents shared a look. "You don't believe in love?"

Hermione scoffed. "Of course I do, I see you two being disgusting every day. They were just completely illogical. There are better ways to go about doing things. And to be so dramatic about being in love … No, no, I think I'll pass at that type of thing."

Elizabeth reached out and lightly held her husband's hand. "Oh, and what type of love do you want to have?"

Hermione turned slightly red and stared down at her tea, stirring it a little. "I… I don't know. The boys at school are so immature. I thought that I would start dating in Uni, get some experience, but nothing too serious. Then I would focus on setting up my career for a while, and after I settled that a little, I would try to look around for something more serious. A nice man, moderately attractive, who likes to read as much as I do and also is in a solid enough financial position to start a family. I was thinking late twenties, early thirties."

She glanced up at her mother, surprised to see that she was trying to hold back a laugh. Hermione felt indignant, "What? Doesn't that sound nice?"

Elizabeth couldn't hold back her smile anymore. "No, no, it does sound nice, a very… logical set up."

Elizabeth hesitated and glanced at Charles, who added, "The thing is, Hermione, love isn't necessarily logical, and though that sounds like a very solid plan, feelings like that don't come just when you want them too. These things never really go as planned."

Hermione looked at her parents in surprise. "So you want me to fall madly in love with some idiot boy and throw out the rest of my future?"

Charles sighed, "Don't be smart, Hermione."

"Fine, sorry. It's just that I have a plan I like and I see no reason not to stick to it. Romance isn't everything. It's hardly like I would drop everything for some boy."

Hermione's mom looked at her, her smile melting into something softer, like there was a secret just at the corners of her mouth. "Hermione, neither of us think that you would drop everything for just some boy."

"Good, because I wouldn't."

Hermione, staring at Harry sweeping the floor on the other side of the room, knew that her fifteen year old self was both incredible wrong and correct at the same time. She hadn't dropped everything for just some boy.

Harry glanced up at her and smiled at her smile. "What's funny?"

"Oh, nothing. I was just thinking of Shakespeare."

Harry shook his head fondly and started sweeping again. "You would be."

Hermione grinned and reached towards the newly purchased mop that was leaning on the wall next to their lumpy rucksacks. Hermione scowled at them as she started to mop the floor that Harry had already swept. The bags had frustratingly been the thing that held them up the longest at the house. They wanted to leave in the middle of the night, right then, but both realized they had nothing to carry their things in.

Hermione felt confident they could fix that right away. She pulled out a book of grade 5 spells and flipped through the index. "Look, here. There is a spell to conjure up a bag. It doesn't look too hard. You just have to wave your wand like this and say, Ecficio Saccus."

Three hours later and there were touches of pink in the sky shining through the ragged curtains. Hermione's arm was shaking from the constant, repetitive motion of waving her wand. Before her sat a large purple rucksack with four different compartments, waterproof lining, zippers, drawstrings and adjustable straps. She carefully picked it up, letting out a breath when it didn't immediately dissolve. She gently opened it, feeling relief and some confidence when the zipper worked correctly. She put her arm in and swore when her fingers pushed through the bottom as though it was made of tissue paper.

Hermione let a long string of swear words, some of which she hadn't even realized she knew, and threw the bag at the wall in frustration. It fell apart into purple dust and then puffed out of existence entirely.

Behind her Harry tiredly said, "I think I've got it." She turned and looked at him, holding up what appeared to be a potato sack with drawstrings at the top. At Hermione's look, Harry shrugged. "I know it's not pretty, but it should do the job, look." Harry opened the bag and punched the bottom which held firm. "And I've already made two. I made this one almost an hour ago and it hasn't disappeared yet or anything, so…"

Hermione nodded, perhaps too sharply, trying not to let the frustration at herself show. She smiled stiffly at him as she took the bag from him and started to shove all of her clothes from the drawers in it. A half hour later they made their way quietly downstairs, their backs weighed down with their clothes, toiletries, and a some books Hermione deemed essential.

The living room was dark and empty, but there was a light shining under the door to the kitchen. They could hear Mrs. Weasley humming to herself. Harry and Hermione looked at each other and moved off the stairs into the gloomy entryway, barely breathing. They crept to the door and Harry reached out carefully to the handle. His palm barely connected with the cold metal when something shot out, almost like a bolt of electricity, and froze Harry in his place. The handle started to heat up rapidly.

"No, no." Harry tried to jerk his hand away, but his arm wouldn't move, his feet were stuck to the ground.

Hermione pulled at his arm but she couldn't move him at all. He's breaths were starting to come out as gasps. Hermione pulled out her wand and tried to think of what to do. Inspiration stuck. "Aguamenti!" pointing the her wand at Harry's hand and the door handle. Harry let out a relieved sigh, "That's helping, but I don't know for how long, it keeps getting hotter."

Hermione hopped from foot to foot, trying to think of something better, a small puddle building on the floor. Harry started to groan again. He looked up at the ceiling at hissed out, "This is my house, God dammit." The air seemed to still for a moment and then Harry was abruptly let go of, falling back a few steps. He clutched at his hand, hissing through clenched teeth, the palm of it shiny and red.

Hermione whispered the spell to stop the stream of water coming from her wand just as the door opened itself a couple of inches. Harry and Hermione looked at each other with raised eyebrows. Behind Harry the kitchen door open and closed, revealing Mrs. Weasley, illuminated by the pale winter's morning light coming through the crack of the now opened door, mouth open in surprise.

Harry and Hermione stepped closer together out of some strange instinct. Mrs. Weasley's eyes moved from the open door to their faces to their rucksacks, her mouth closing, understanding entering her face. She stared at them for a long moment. Harry and Hermione held their breath. Mrs. Weasley continued to stare, raising one eyebrow. Harry took Hermione's hand with his uninjured one and started to move slowly backwards towards the door. Mrs. Weasley watched them until they closed the door, gently, quietly and turned into the light of the new day.

They took the tube and a bus out to a neighborhood that look half forgotten, Victorian row houses languishing in their own slow decay. Harry showed Hermione one that had boarded up windows in the front and a loose lock in the back.

Hermione made her way to the bank, heart pounding, but found no trouble there. She got her money in two transactions, the rolls and wads of pounds in her pockets and bag making her feel guilty, like she was a thief.

She bought supplies and groceries and unpacked them as Harry wandered the house, checking each room, deciding which one was the safest. They ended up cleaning the dining room as it was the warmest, having no windows.

"While you were out, I, uh, I magicked up a few blankets. It's going to be a cold night, I'm afraid. We can't make a fire , as people will notice the smoke, and of course there isn't any electricity…" Harry glanced around the room in frustration, and looked at Hermione, his eyes sorry.

Hermione smiled. "That's okay. I got us some heat packs and a couple of battery operated heat lamps. Between that, the blankets, and us, we should be okay for tonight."

Hermione took one of the blankets that was in a pile in the corner of the room. It was brown and lumpy and seemed to be a similar material to that of the rucksack, somewhat itchy. But it was thick and warm, and when she put it to her face, it smelled like Harry. Smiling to herself, she threw it over her shoulders and sat down. She started to put the batteries into the heat lamps. "We will have to look up some heating charms and household magics. Of course they didn't bother to teach us anything about those kinds of spells at all. But we'll figure it out. And when we do, I'm sure that this place will be more comfortable than most London apartments."

Harry remained quiet, standing still. Hermione glanced up at his face to see that he was frowning down at her. "This is nuts."

Hermione frowned, putting the lamp down. "It was your idea."

"No, it's insane that you're here."

Hermione swallowed thickly, hurt.

"You're suppose to be at Cambridge. You're suppose to be be at your parent's at Christmas time, opening presents and talking about your professors. I-I can't even give you blankets that don't itch. Look, you don't have to be here at all. Just… go to your parents in Australia."

Hermione swallowed thickly. "I can't, even if I wanted to, the Order knows where they are, they're going to find me if I try to find my parents. Plus, they put a charm on them, a memory charm. I don't know how to fix that at all, they won't be able to remember me."

Harry shook his head. "I've thought about this. First, you're you. You'll be able to figure out how to fix your parents in no time. Second, I think the Order is more interested in me than you. They wanted you around because you could be another trained witch that would fight on their side, but if you make it all the way to Australia, I don't know, I think they wouldn't drag you back, not if I'm still here."

Harry started to pace, his face locked in a look of concentration. "No, no, I have a better idea. I could tell the Order that I will only go back to them if they let you go to Australia and if they fix your parent's memory. I'll tell them that I'll do whatever they like if they do that for me. Yes, that could work." Harry stopped pacing and turned back towards Hermione. He looked at her face and stepped a half step back, alarmed at the anger burning there.

"How. Many. Times." Hermione bit out each word.

"How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not going to abandon you to face all of this alone, you stupid man?" Hermione's voice got louder the longer she talked.

Harry's face changed through many emotions, but landed on anger too. "What kind of person would I be to keep you here, Hermione? How could I possibly ask you to stay?"

"Easy, Harry. You aren't asking me to, I'm doing it myself."

Harry hesitated, but spoke through gritted teeth. "Then maybe I'm not the stupid one here, Hermione. Why the hell would you choose this?"

Hermione flung the blanket off of her shoulders and yelled back, "One, because I love you, you berk. Two, even if I didn't love you, which is more than reason enough by itself, I'm staying because it's right. You have just had an impossible amount of shit thrown at you, Harry. More than any one person can bear. I can't, I won't, just watch you drown."

Harry ran his fingers through his hair, his breathing heavy. The anger faded away from his face, replaced with desperation. "You have to watch me drown, Hermione. You're trying to jump in to save me, but you'll just end up drowning too, I'll just end up dragging you down with me."

Hermione walked forward and grabbed Harry's shoulders. "You can't ask that of me Harry. It's too cruel. I'd much rather go down trying to save someone than stand there, safe and guilty."

Harry took a step backward, moving out of her grasp. "But I'd much rather have you safe. You can't ask me to risk you."

Hermione felt fear rising in her throat. He really meant it. She took a step back too. She spoke softly. "Harry, if you can look me in the eye and tell me in all honesty that you don't want me here, that you're okay with never seeing me again, I'll pack up my things and leave right this minute."

Harry swallowed a couple of times, nodding to himself and moved towards Hermione, his face blank, his eyes on hers. "Hermione, I don't want you here." His voice was soft, almost a whisper. Hermione felt one tear make its way down her cheek.

"Hermione, I don't want you here and, and I'm okay with… I'm okay with never…" Harry took a deep shuddering breath. "I'm okay with... never seeing…" Harry broke eye contact, his breathing ragged. He covered his face with his hands, gasping. "God dammit, damn it, I can't."

Hermione let out a long shaky breath and carefully put her arms around his shoulders. "Harry, please, you have to believe that I want to be here. Please don't do this to me again. You have to stop trying to get rid of me, there's only so much my ego can take."

Harry let out a breathy laugh and looked at her with watery eyes. "I'm so sorry Hermione. I tried… I won't do this again, I want to be with you, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Harry pulled Hermione towards him, her cheek against his shoulder, her hands on his back. She could feel the tension there. She knew, in her heart, that his sorries were for not having the strength to send her away.

In her heart, she vowed to herself not to let him drown.

* * *

"Hermione, I feel ridiculous." Harry looked down at himself in despair.

Hermione looked up at him from her book, frowning. "Yes, well, that's because you look ridiculous."

Harry huffed at her and sat down on the newly conjured arm chair which promptly tilted forward to one side as the front left leg vanished. Harry sat forward for a minute, thinking to fix it, but shrugged and leaned back, the chair rocking back with a thunk.

Hermione shook her head at him, smiling slightly, and continued to concentrate on her jeans, which were slowly turning black. "Harry, I think I'm a bit worn out from changing your clothes, could you…?"

Harry hesitated to get up, looking uncertain. "You know I'm not good at the detailed stuff. It might look stupid."

"It's a bit late for that, isn't it?" Hermione smirked at him, her eyes once again glancing down his body.

Harry rolled his eyes. "This is what you said they dress like Hermione. And the adults in the Order wore stuff like this. You can't take the mickey out of me when you're going to have to wear them too."

Harry and Hermione switched places, Harry sitting cross-legged on the floor and Hermione leaning back in the chair. "Yes, but they do rather look like dresses, don't they? I don't know. I guess I just got use to seeing them in those clothes, but it's funny seeing you in a robe."

Harry nodded absently, his wand tapping against his chin. "Are you sure trying to look like Hogwarts students is a good idea? It just seems risky. What if people ask us questions?"

"We aren't trying to look like them really. We will just wear black robes and hope that the older people think we're in Hogwarts and that the younger people think that we are just boring dressers. The point is to make it so no one looks at us closely. Oh, I do wish you spoke French, that would make things easier."

Harry grinned. "Sorry to disappoint, Mademoiselle." Hermione scrunched her nose at his pronunciation.

Harry waved his wand with a flourish, trying to mimic what Hermione had done. There was a large black puff of smoke which set both to coughing, Harry standing and trying to fan it out of the door, Hermione covering her face with her sleeve. They both stared down at the clothes as the smoke cleared, revealing a black tartan kilt and shimmering feathered cape.

"What on earth?" Hermione started laughing.

Harry flicked her nose as he passed her, sitting down next to the garments with a grunt. "Well, at least it's the right color."

Hermione just laughed harder.

* * *

Harry didn't really enjoy looking at himself in the mirror too much. He already knew he wasn't all that attractive, enough people had told him so, so he didn't see why he had to remind himself about it all the time. He frequently didn't even bother brushing his hair as it made no difference to the messiness. So he was somewhat surprised when he looked at himself in the mirror in the bathroom of the local rec center. He had a solid five o'clock shadow, somewhere between scruff and actual facial hair. He couldn't remember the last time he shaved. His hair was still chaos, particularly in the back, but it was at least a few inches longer, lying by his ears and curling by his shirt collar. He made a mental note to cut it and shave soon.

For now he unscrewed a jar labeled _Andre For Men: Extra Strength Refined Clean Cut Pomade_ and dipped his fingers in, grimacing at the strange texture. He pulled it back through his hair again and again until it looked like a shiney flat helmet on his head, save for a few stubborn lumps in the back. Next he took concealer and dabbed it over his greatly faded scar, covering it easily. Then he removed his round black rimmed glasses and replaced them with large rectangular brown ones that seemed to cover half his face.

Looking at himself in the mirror, Harry thought he rather looked like someone's creepy uncle.

Shaking his head, he went out to the hall and sat slumped on a bench to wait for Hermione, his rucksack holding his make-up and robe.

It made him feel very uneasy, their plan, but they couldn't stay cooped up in the house, trying to conjure up furniture and clean the bathroom enough that they could use their magic water in it forever. The point was to try to find information for themselves. But still, he wish they could learn more before they left. They weren't even sure if these kind of robes were still in fashion.

Harry glanced up as the women's bathroom door opened, revealing a slight woman with very long, shiny straight hair, bangs cut awkwardly across the front. The bangs were not quite short enough to keep them away from purple tortoise shell eyeglasses which clashed horribly with the red lipstick that was poorly applied, some remaining on her teeth.

Harry relaxed against the wall again as he waited for Hermione, wondering how long she was going to take. The woman leaned against the wall across from him, pulling a book from an ugly brown rucksack.

Harry sat forward again, laughing as he recognized her. "Hermione?"

Hermione looked up from her book, frowning, her face clearing into amused recognition as she moved towards him. "Harry? You look like a creepy uncle."

Harry eye's moved over her, looking her up and down as she did the same to him. "You look like someone's drunk aunt who cut her own bangs, applied lipstick and went out for the day."

The smile slid off of Hermione's face as she self consciously touched her hair. "It it really that bad?"

Harry felt like kicking himself. "N-No, haha, no. Um, you just have a bit of lipstick here." He pointed to his own teeth, watching as Hermione turned away from him and rubbed at her face.

She turned around, smiling hesitantly. "Is it all gone?"

Harry looked at her pearly white teeth and nodded. "You look great."

Hermione shook her head but gave him a small, sincere smile and asked, "Shall we?"

* * *

"I hate to break it to you Hermione, but this is a brick wall."

She nudged him with her shoulder and glanced down at her book again.

"It says that there should be an inn here called the Leaky Cauldron, but…"

They glanced behind them to the empty lot adjacent to the brick wall.

"Doesn't it seem strange that there would be such a large empty space in the middle of London?" Harry asked, glancing down at Hermione.

She shrugged, "Maybe they just tore it down or something. This book is fifteen years out of date. There's still a break wall though."

Hermione coughed and glanced around her before putting her book back in her bag. She hesitantly lifted up her wand and counted bricks, tapping some as she went. There was a brief pause and Harry and Hermione looked at each other, worried. But then the wall started to move, brick by brick, to reveal an archway leading to the most bizarre street either had ever seen.

The street was crooked and crowded with small shops with creaking wooden signs that said things like, 2nd Hand Brooms, Flourish and Blotts, and Eeylops Owl Emporium. At the end of the street, on a slight hill, was a large, columned white building.

The street itself was quiet and organized, a few people moving from shop to shop, a couple of witches with tall black pointed hats chatting up the street towards the bank. The street was so muted that even from the other end Harry and Hermione could hear the one witches polite laughter at whatever her companion said. It was nearing Christmas time everything on the other side of the wall were decorated festively. Looking at this street, you wouldn't know the season, save the the puffs of cold air coming from people's mouths.

Harry and Hermione hesitantly walked through the archway, jumping slightly as the wall moved back into place behind them. Harry grabbed Hermione's hand, trying not to look like a staring idiot, like he belonged here, as they moved past barrels full of what appeared to be small, glistening eyes, windows that had dozens of different kinds of owls, and door fronts with strange markings on them, circles that almost looked like eyes that seemed to follow them up the street.

Next to him Hermione was stiff, not moving her neck, but her eyes were darting every which way. Harry couldn't help but think that both of them would make poor spies.

Hermione clutched Harry's arm to stop him and wordlessly pointed into what appeared to be a bookstore. They pushed open the heavy wooden door, Harry feeling the weight of the strange eye like carvings ingrained there as they past through it. The store was dark, gloomy, and somehow even more quiet than the street outside. Hermione glanced at him and again silently pulled him towards a section called Household Spell Books.

Harry couldn't get over the feeling that even a whisper would be noticed here.

Hermione let go of his hand and started to flip through a book about cleaning spells. Harry tapped her on the shoulder and nodded his head towards the opposite wall. Hermione hesitated but she nodded, looking back down at her book.

Harry glanced at the spines of the books as he slowly made his way around the store. One whole wall was labeled Hogwarts. It had such titles as _The Standard Book of Spells: Grade One_ , _Intermediate Transfiguration_ , _Unfogging the Future, Magical Drafts and Potions._ Harry had the creeping, overwhelming realization of just how little magic they knew. He moved further onto a subsection called Muggle Studies. Harry had been told that wizards call non-magical people muggles, but didn't think that they studied them at Hogwarts. Harry glanced through the section, curious. He felt heat rising through his body, his hands shaking a little, as he read through the spines. _Muggles and their Blood. Muggles' Basic Instincts, the Muggle Menace, Living Life with Lessers._

Harry picked up that last title and flipped to a random page in the middle, which appeared to be the end of a chapter. " _As we have established, muggles are too numerous and too brutish to eliminate completely. This then leads us to the question, What should be do about them? The Statue of Secrecy is there for our benefit and we should respect it. However, it can be good for morale and for a remainder of our higher place in the world to occasionally stretch our legs and have some fun. The next chapter will be about the happier, and hopefully still safe, side of our having to deal with muggles._ Harry flipped to the next page and read the title three times in quick succession, not quite understanding, but feeling revolution rise up in his chest just the same. _The Three Rules of Muggle Hunting: Selection, Secrecy, and Safety._

Harry closed the book with a clump that seemed to echo in the complete silence of the bookstore. Hermione rounded the corner closest to him, clutching two books to her chest, frowning, her eyebrows raised in question. Harry just shrugged and gently slid the book back into place. She walked up to him and showed him the books she was holding, one titled, _Most Common and Useful Household Spells_ and the other, _A Brief History of Modern Magical England._ Harry nodded and took Hermione's hand again as they made their way to the front of the store, not saying a word.

A bald mustachioed man was leaning against the counter, cleaning his fingernails with tip of his wand. He glanced up at them disinterestedly, his eyes noticeably rimmed with red. He rang the books up with what appeared to be an ancient brass teller.

"Ten." His voice was gruff and loud in the quiet, making Harry and Hermione jump as though he yelled. Hermione nodded, looking surprised, as she pulled out her wallet and handed him a ten pound note.

"What's this then?" The shopkeeper snarled.

They glanced at each other, alarmed.

"W-What?" Hermione barely whispered out. Behind them Harry heard the door open and close softly.

"Is this some kind of joke? Why are you handing me dirty money?" Harry looked at Hermione, confused and more worried as she paled rapidly.

"I-I'm sorry, I f-forgot." Hermione barely mumbled again, glancing at Harry, panicked. Harry looked at the man who threw down the bill in disgust, the snarl still on his face. Hermione grabbed the books off of the counter. "I'll j-just go and put these back then."

"Just you wait a minute here Missy." The man slammed the books back down on the counter, making both Harry and Hermione jump again. "What are you doing with that money? Just who are you two anyway, I haven't seen you around before?" His voice became louder as he spoke, his red, blood shot eyes becoming strangely more watery.

Harry moved in front of Hermione and opened his mouth angrily when a gentle, anxious voice behind them spoke up. "Roy-Roy, I-I'm sorry. These two are my, uh, my relatives from, from away. From, uh, from America. It's their first time here." Harry and Hermione turned to look at a tall but stooping boy, who would be big save for his curling up in himself. He glanced at them in silent pleading.

Roy spoke from the counter, his voice still gruff. "The Longbottoms don't have any other relatives, boy."

The boy nodded too quickly, licking his lips. "Y-Yes we do. They're very, very distant, on my Great Uncle Algie's side. Roy this is, um, this is Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom." He winced as he spoke their made up names.

Roy glanced between the three of them, his face doubting. "So, come to Britain to visit your cousin, eh?"

Harry felt realization hit him all at once. Longbottom. Harry choked out in a strange voice that sounded like a distant approximation of an American accent, "Yes, yes, my dear cousin, Neville Longbottom." Both Hermione and Neville looked at him in surprise, Hermione recovering more quickly, turning to look at the startled boy. "N-Neville, I'm sorry, I've seemed to have grabbed the wrong money, could you…?" Hermione nodded towards the books. She continued to speak quiet and mumbling. Her accent was hard to discern.

Neville glanced between them before nodding too quickly again, shakily handing the shopkeeper ten thick shiny golden coins.

The shopkeeper stared at them for another tense moment before shaking his head and putting the money away, silently watching them as they left, Hermione clutching the books to her chest.

They closed the door behind them. Hermione opened her mouth to speak. Neville Longbottom shook his head, glancing at the circles on the door. He nodded to them to come with him down the street. Harry and Hermione glanced at each other, worried, and followed.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Neville Longbottom was not an attractive boy. His round cheeks were a bit pouchy, his teeth over large and crowded in his mouth, his hair a mousy, wispy brown. Regardless of this, Hermione couldn't help but think that there was still something handsome about him, something about the good-naturedness in his eyes, or the openness of his posture. Hermione could imagine him blossoming into a handsome man sometime well after his teenage years.

For Neville's part, he was staring at Harry and Hermione like they were unicorns sipping tea in his parlor room rather than homeless teenagers. "So...So, you're really a muggleborn, Hermione?"

"For the third time, Neville, yes."

"I'm sorry. It's just...it's just that I've been told for so long now that you all were gone. This is, this is just great news." Neville was positively beaming in his chair. "Two muggleborns. I knew that they weren't as in control as they pretend."

Neville reached over and poured more tea into Hermione's cup, some spilling as his hand shook, "Sorry." Hermione just shook her head, smiling softly at him.

"Well, from what I've gathered, I'm not actually a muggleborn." Harry took a sip from his cup, frowning slightly. "Both of my parents were wizards. Does that make me pureblood?"

Neville looked him a long moment, shoulder's slumped. "Ah, you're parents were wizards? Well, it depends on their lineage."

"My mom was a muggleborn and my father's family had been wizards since forever, as far as I've been told."

"Then you would be a halfblood, third class." Neville glanced up at their inquiring faces. Neville looked back at them in surprise before speaking softly, mostly to himself. "Of course you both wouldn't know about all that, obviously. It's just that they talk about it so much at Hogwarts…" Neville fell silent, looking like he was pulling his thoughts together.

"The wizarding world has a hierarchy based on family lineage. At the top are purebloods who can trace their family history as being solely made of wizards and witches for hundreds of years. A pureblood second class would be one who can prove that there were always witches and wizards in their blood, but there might be some muggles or muggleborns mixed in there. The more muggle or muggleborn blood, the lower the status. So, for example, if Harry here was a halfblood because his mother was a halfblood and his father was a halfblood, then he would be a halfblood second class instead of third. The fact that he is so closely related to a muggleborn marks him as lower. The only two lower statuses would be if his father was halfblood and his mother muggleborn, and below that is if both of your parents are muggleborns. Those are the lowest caste, called spoiledblood." Neville took another sip of his tea.

Harry and Hermione looked at each other, frowning. Neville coughed slightly. "Of course that's a big pile of hippogriff shit. I've seen spoiledbloods perform better magic than some pureblood first classes just on accident." Neville looked uncomfortably down at his tea for a second before asking, "Say, Harry, if your father was pureblood, what's your family name? Maybe I know something of them."

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other a long beat before staring at Neville for a minute. He started to shift uncomfortably in his seat, looking confused at the tense silence when Harry spoke suddenly and lowly, "Potter. My name's Harry Potter."

Neville let out a small laugh, glancing between their faces with an expectant smile, clearly waiting for someone to crack and tell him they were joking. Neville stopped smiling, glancing between their faces more urgently now, continuing to find only serious expressions. "You-You can't be serious?" Seemingly forgetting himself, he stood up from his chair and leaned towards Harry's face, his eyes tracing the faint outline of Harry's scar.

He sat back down with a thump and dumbfounded expression. "They...they said. They had said that you were dead. For a long time now...they said that…" Neville put his face in his hands, his eyes watery.

Harry leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his face a mask. "Neville, I hope you know this changes nothing. I can't defeat him for you, whatever some stupid prophecy says."

Neville blinked at him in awe for a few beats before he shook his head, confused. "What? Prophecy? No, I don't know...What's important here is that you're alive. That. That by itself is amazing. It proves that he's not all powerful, all knowing. The fact that you're still breathing means that he makes mistakes."

Harry sat back. "So...you've never heard of the prophecy? But, it could have been you?"

Neville frowned and shook his head, "A Prophecy? About Me? What did it say?"

"Nothing Neville, it might not even be real." Hermione looked thoughtfully into the fire, her voice soft.

They lapsed into a strange silence, all of them looking different directions. Neville hummed for a second before he spoke again. "Both of you, if the wizarding world knew you existed, it would cause quite a shake up."

Hermione hesitated, before looking at Neville's excited face, feeling almost apologetic. "But, the thing is Neville, no one can know where we are. You see, he's still looking for Harry, and me too, for that matter. Frankly, it was silly of us to follow you all the way here like we did. But… thank you for helping us."

Harry took another sip, "Why did you help us, anyway?"

Neville glanced again between their faces, frowning. "First, I didn't mean to suggest that you two should show yourself, that would be suicidal. I was just… it's just that… it's amazing. Amazing that you're alive, either of you. It makes me want to spit in their faces… I guess that's why I helped. You both looked so confused, I knew the moment that I saw that muggle money that you two weren't from around here. I couldn't let Roy bully you, questioning you like that… plus, if he made a big enough scene, they would have come."

"Who would have come?" Hermione put down her tea and leaned forward, curious, just as Harry leaned back, looking confused.

Neville clasped his hands tightly together, his expression hard to read, his face suddenly older looking, shadowed. He shrugged and gave a strange cough, not answering.

Harry broke the odd beat of silence. "Neville, though it was nice of you to help us with that bookkeeper, I have to ask, why does us existing make you want to spit in their faces? From what I can see," Harry gave a glance around room, from the vaulted ceilings to thick, plush rug, "you're a pureblood, you're at the top, right?"

The stiff expression on Neville's face broke as he let out a small brittle laugh. "Because this system is rigid. Everyone is afraid all the time. You remember the eyes on the doors? They don't just see, they listen. It's suppose to be for our safety, to make sure that no more rogue parties like the Order of the Phoenix cause any more damage. But really, I think it's to make sure that we don't start talking to each other, start asking any questions. We'd feel less afraid in numbers, if we trusted each other…" Neville stopped talking abruptly, his face pained, his eyes far away. "But we can't."

"Trust each other?" Hermione's voice was barely above a whisper.

Neville's eyes became hard, looking very unnatural on his round, open face. "No, we can't. We all learned that one way or another."

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other, worried.

Suddenly a small blue light started flashing above roaring fireplace. Neville's already pale face drained further of color. "You two should go." He stood up and moved towards the fire, picking up a small golden pot. "Somebody is home."

Harry and Hermione got up quickly, moving to stand next to him, looking towards the door. "Could we meet to talk more again Neville? We have so many questions."

Neville nodded, glancing between them and the door nervously. "I would love to. I don't know where…"

"The National Art Gallery, in front of the painting the Execution of Lady Jane Grey, Saturday at two pm," Hermione said rapidly, her fingers taking a pinch of floo powder. Harry and Neville exchanged a surprised glance before nodding, Harry taking a pinch of powder too.

"Where should we go?"

"Just say Muggle entrance two, it's a hidden fireplace that leads out to the middle of London. I'll see you both Saturday."

* * *

Harry's hair was starting to spring back into chaos from the hair product, strands straining up like blades of grass. Hermione's hair was starting to spiral back into its curls with a vengeance, a halo of frizz surrounding her head. As they entered the safe room, Hermione's robe popped back into a feathered cape. They stared at it for a second before Hermione shrugged it off with a grin. "Well, at least it had good timing."

Hermione put the two new books next to her makeshift bed with a thump and a long sigh. "I can't believe I didn't think about how their money is different."

Harry sat down heavily in the chair, it rocking back with a thunk. "I can't believe that they have their own money. I know they have their own laws and schools and things, so I suppose it makes sense that they have their own government. But I don't know, having their own money? Are they even still British, really?"

Hermione bit her lip, tapping her finger against her chin. "I was planning to focus on the household spells first, but I'm starting to think that I should get through the Modern history first instead, finish before we meet Neville on Saturday."

Harry nodded absently, "What do you think of Neville? I'm worried that telling him who I am could be a mistake."

"You were the one who told him so readily. What made you do that?"

Harry shrugged. "I suppose it's very stupid of me, but I don't know, he just seems...trustworthy."

"I got that feeling too. Here's hoping that our instincts are right." She laid out on her bed, which was more like a nest than a mattress, a piling of half transformed materials, and picked up her book.

She was five pages in when she heard Harry walk towards her and sit cross legged next to her, his face hidden behind her book. She continued to read, wanting to see what he would do. Suddenly, gently, the book was pulled away from her, Harry closing it, putting it in his lap.

"You know, you're very attractive when you read." Harry was looking at Hermione tenderly, a small, almost wistful, smile on his face.

Hermione sat up with a smile, "Oh, just when I'm reading, eh?" Her tone was teasing, she was already leaning forward for a kiss.

"No, all the time. When you read, when you think, we you walk, when you sleep, when you write, all the time." Harry's face was serious, his eyes so sincere they almost looked sorry.

Hermione paused, thrown by his seriousness. She wanted him to smile, she let out a nervous laugh, but his face remained the same. She pulled at her hair, patting down the curls and frizz. "Thank you, Harry."

Harry just nodded. "You know, I figure I'm pretty pants at being romantic, I just… I don't know what I'm doing, or how to make you happy. I can't buy you anything. I'm living like a leech off of your money. You're too smart and, and… practical for fluffy words or poetry, which makes me cringe just thinking about it, reading or writing you poetry. But, I can't just not do anything. I have to let you know, somehow. So...So I thought honesty was the best option. I just had the urge to let you know." Harry gave a small cough, his face reddening.

Hermione leaned forward, her hands on his checks. "I don't think anybody really knows what they're doing Harry, but as far as being pants at being romantic goes, I must disagree. Very much."

Hermione leaned forward, pressing her lips softly against his.

* * *

"Harry? Do you like grapefruit? I was thinking that we should buy some more fruits and vegetables, maybe even some milk, since you've gotten that charm to keep that box cool for a few days at a time now. It's just that I fear we'll get scurvy or something if we don't add some vitamins to our diet soon. I know it's cheap, but there is only so much soup a body can take…"

Harry wasn't really listening to Hermione, not really taking her in, as she stood in his periphery, muttering as she compared the prices of grapefruit versus a bag of apples. Harry was staring straight ahead, looking at a family buying bread at the end of the store. He couldn't wrap his mind around why they would be here, the other side of London, buying groceries instead of in Surrey. He also supposed that that was a little silly, the other side of London wasn't far away, really, in the grand scheme of things. They could be visiting a grandparent, or just running errands and somehow ending up here instead of their regular grocery store.

The Evans family, the two ordinary parents, one's hair a dyed blonde and the other's hair a grey speckled brown, the older son, maybe thirteen now, rail thin and stretched looking, the younger sister with a sparkly hair clip, were all making their way through the store in an unrushed way. When he was fourteen or fifteen Harry had found out that his Aunt and Mum's maiden name was Evans. He knew, intellectually, that his family and the Evans' common surname was just a coincidence, but still his neighbors from a couple of blocks over became something of a dream for him. When he would walk around the neighborhood, trying his hardest to avoid going home, he would see them sometimes, always looking so happy, like they actually enjoyed each other's company.

He would imagine they would take the younger sister to the park one day while he was there, exhausted and slumped on a swing as he would be sometimes, and they, being good natured people, would ask about his health.

"Oh, you're our neighbor right? From number four there on Privet Drive? Are you feeling alright?" He would imagine the mother inquiring, looking politely concerned from a few feet away.

"Oh, I'm fine, I'm just a little tired. It's just that I go to school, you know, and I've started to do a lot of hours waiting tables at a restaurant, and I have all these chores at home." He would try to sound nonchalant about it while Mrs. Evans would frown, a little confused.

"Not to sound judgmental or anything, but, well, why don't your parents lessen your chores some if you're working?"

"Oh well, I live with my aunt and uncle, you see, my parents, James and Lily Potter, died in a car accident when I was just a baby."

He imagined her eyes widening, at first because of the story, then because she recognised the names. He imagined her explaining how her husband had a long lost cousin, Lily Evans, who he latter knew married a Potter, and she would call her husband over, and they would figure out that Harry was family, and that Petunia and Vernon were terrible guardians, and being so kind, so good natured they would decide then and there would take him in.

Usually he would let the daydream fade out there, fuzzy, the details indistinct, as really the whole thing made no logical sense. But he couldn't help thinking about it now and then as he saw them around, felt how his chest tightened to see them smiling at each other. Even now he couldn't help staring at them as though they weren't quite real, like seeing something from a dream in a dream appear before him in the produce aisle.

Slowly the oldest boy, his name something like Matt or Mark, raised his head, glancing around the store in boredom, his eyes landing on Harry's briefly before shooting away quickly, as people always do when they make eye contact with strangers. But Harry saw his eyes flash back quickly, his eyebrows raised, recognition sinking in. For a second Harry wondered why he would recognize him before noticing the fear on the boy's face. Harry felt a jolt of panic. Mark turned quickly to his family, saying something, and soon the whole family was looking their way.

"Hermione, we need to go, we need to leave right now. That family over there recognizes me. They're neighbors from Surrey." Harry turned his back towards the family, speaking lowly to Hermione whose whole body became tense. But she didn't look over at them, instead slowly placing the apples back on the table.

"We'll leave now, but not in a rush, it will just draw attention to ourselves if we start running." Harry and Hermione grabbed hands and made their way to the front of the store, leaving the shopping cart abandoned next the grapefruits.

* * *

Harry could feel Hermione's eyes on him as they did their daily tasks of hiding. Heating charmes here, water spells there, cooling charms in the cooler that was acting as their refrigerator. He could feel her as he was folding clothes, her eyes watching even as she chatted about what she had read, the weather, what they wanted for dinner.

Finally, with a halted breath before she spoke, Hermione let the tension that had been pouring silently through her eyes out through her mouth. "Close call today, eh?" Harry just nodded, letting the tension build again as Hermione thought through what she was trying to ask.

"Did you know those neighbors well?" Harry unfolded and refolded the same shirt twice, three times, thinking. Hermione let out an impatient breath behind him. "Harry, it was of course nerve wracking to be spotted like that, but you've been awfully quiet since then and you were so pale when you saw them...I can't help but feel that there's more to the story?"

Harry didn't want to talk about his strange, stalkerish thoughts, about how much he had watched them with a painful kind of envy for years. He didn't know how to describe how seeing them made him think of the Dursleys, about how Mark or Matt or whatever had been bullied by Dudley as well. About much he hated Dudley, his stupid pink, piggish face, how he looked just like Uncle Vernon, had the same small, mean look in his eyes as Vernon had in his. He didn't want to try and explain to Hermione how seeing Mark look at him with fear flashing in his face made him think about how Mark had looked when he would see Dudley. How that made him remember the steady rolling of hatred Harry had felt for his cousin. The remembered hatred existed simultaneously with the lurch of horror that came to mind when he thought of Dudley's own look of fear as Voldemort loomed over him.

Harry folded and refolded the shirt a couple of more times before he threw it into the corner with a soft thump. He started folding another shirt as he spoke, carefully not looking at Hermione. "My old neighbors, the ones at the store, they have a son, four or five years younger than me. Dudley and his crowd of stupid friends would go around and terrorize the local kids, rough them up, take their money, stuff like that. They weren't very creative but they were mean. They went after the kid from the store a lot. I don't know why. I don't know why they did anything really. I went to a different school, but back in primary we were all together, Dudley and his neighborhood gang. They were...well, let's just say berks doesn't really cover it." Harry tossed the more shirts into the corner, harder than was really necessary.

"Were they...Did they...Did they have a go at you a lot?" Hermione asked quietly from the corner, too softly, like she was afraid of the answer.

Harry snorted, "Yeah, all the time. They called it 'Harry Hunting.' I was a sport. They made the boys from _The Lord of the Flies_ look tame."

"Harry Hunting," Hermione whispered from her corner, the disgust obvious even at the low volume.

Harry had finished folding his clothes but needed something, anything, to do with his hands. He knew he couldn't look at Hermione. He sat next the chair, looking at the missing leg while spinning his wand in his hand. He didn't know what to do to try and fix it, but he stared at it like he was thinking, spinning his wand, flipping it between his fingers over and over again.

"They weren't good people, Hermione, something was wrong with them. They just seemed to enjoy it, you know? They seemed to enjoying causing pain. Hurting animals in the park, making kids cry, embarrassing them, making them miss lunch so they could take money they didn't need. The little bastards always picked on kids the worst who they thought no one would help. The strange kids with no friends, or who had old ratty clothes and state lunches, whose parent's would be too tired or too busy to notice bruises, or truly see how unhappy their kids were. It's just… when they picked on Matt or Mark of whatever his name is, they made a mistake. His parents did eventually notice and they did care, and they actually got Dudley and his friends in trouble, real trouble…"

Harry sighed looking at the space, the empty air, between the bottom of the chair and the floor, tapping his wand against his mouth, staring and staring like there was something he knew to do about it. "I admit, I was a little jealous, whenever I came home with a split lip and broken glasses from Dudley and his friends, he was always clapped on the back, told how he was a real man, they'd all have a good laugh. What's-his-face's parents cared. They actually got him in trouble. Of course I felt like a right jerk, feeling jealous of a little ten year old boy who had been bullied by the neighborhood kids, but still."

He heard Hermione stand and move closer to him, settling cross-legged a foot away. Harry could sense her eyes, like a weight, a density to their intensity that felt like gravity, pulling him to them. But he couldn't look at her, something would snap, something important. Instead he stood and went to the peeling wallpaper, pulling at the edges here and there, taking small pieces from the wall and letting them fall to the floor.

"You're family was terrible Harry, they were awful people and they were cruel to you." Hermione still spoke softly, but this time the softness had an edge to it. He couldn't look at her.

"Yeah, but they're gone now. It hardly matters."

Behind him Hermione was silent, he couldn't look at her.

"I mean, what would be the point in raging about it now?" Harry caught a large piece, pulling with a satisfying sound a square foot of the musty paper. He started tearing it into smaller pieces, letting them fall to his feet.

"They're gone now, so it's not like I can change anything, tell them anything." Harry started picking at another piece, this one more stubborn.

"What would you tell them?" Harry couldn't tell if Hermione had really asked him that, how quiet she had spoke, or if the question had rang loud from his own head.

"How much I hate them. Hated them. No, hate them. I hate them still, Hermione, so much, but they aren't here to tell, it's my fault they are gone, and now it doesn't matter anymore. Now I can't tell them how much I hate them. It's just me, me and my hate and their nothing. They can't fix it, I can't fix it." Harry leaned his head against the wall, his hands dangling at his sides like the pieces of wallpaper he had almost peeled off.

He felt Hermione's arms wrap around his middle, felt her rest her face in the middle of his back, between his shoulder blades. Her lips moved against the fabric of his shirt. "I wish I knew what to say. What magic words to make this better. But all I can think is, fine, good, hate them. They deserve it. You don't have to forgive them yet, or ever, really. But you're right, they're gone now, and I think, as time goes by, Harry, they'll matter less and less. And even if you always feel hatred for them, they will become such a small part of who you are, become such a small part of your world, that it won't matter anymore. You're already so much more than your hatred of them Harry, so it's okay, just hate them. If it's any consolation, I hate them too, I don't care that they're dead, I hate them too."

Harry put his hands over Hermione's, felt the softness of her skin, the folds of her palms, the smoothness of her nails. "I love you, Hermione Granger."

Harry felt her smile against his back. "I love you too."

* * *

The next morning they moved their lumpy homemade mattresses next to each other, Harry making bacon and eggs as Hermione tried to get the fabrics of their beds to mend together. "It seems silly now to sleep on separate sides of the room, considering last night, but it will be truly annoying to try to sleep with a stupid gab there."

Harry put the plates of food down on the table and wandered over to Hermione, circling his arm around her waist, dropping his mouth to her shoulder. "Well, I'm not thinking of giving you a lot of space at night anymore anyway."

Hermione twirled out of his grasped and sauntered over to the table, her cheeks pink, her smile mischievous. "And what if I like space, Potter? No one wants to be the little spoon all the time."

Harry shrugged, grinning, "I can be the little spoon sometimes, if you'd like?"

Hermione grinned, "Deal." She took a bite of her bacon before looking down at her watch. "Let's not forget, we have to meet Neville in a couple of hours."

Harry shrugged again, smiling fully, "That leaves plenty of time for...breakfast."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

When Hermione was 15, she and her parents went to the National Gallery. It was certainly not the first time that they had been there and it wouldn't be the last, but it still stood out to Hermione because she noticed a painting. It wasn't the first time she had seen the painting, it wasn't the first time she thought about it, and it wasn't exactly an obscure painting, but it was the first time she really looked at it.

The Execution of Lady Jane Grey never really stood out to Hermione before. It was painted in a typical Romantic style, all dramatic lighting and technical skill. The subject matter, one of the many people left in the ruinous wake of Henry the Eighth, was typical as well. Sometimes Hermione felt like all she learned of British history at school was of and related to Henry the Eighth. But as her eye glanced lazily over the placard next the painting, her eyes caught on Lady Jane Grey's age, seventeen.

Hermione had sat down on the flat, shiny, wooden bench in front of the painting and stared up at the large canvas, at the Nine Days Queen's white hands reaching carefully for her own chopping block, and thought it seemed an awful waste. It was hard sometimes, with so much time and change between the past and present to remember that they were real people, just as real as she is. But it was hard to look at the vulnerability in the painting and not feel something for her, knowing that her death was unfair, politically motivated, patriarchal. A waste.

It just seemed so obviously, knowingly unnecessary to sacrifice a young, defenseless person for some removed purpose, sitting there, hundreds of years away, looking through the eyes of an artist who had been themselves removed from it by hundreds of years.

Sitting there now, with Harry, waiting for Neville, Hermione felt the same strange compassion, a frustrated indignation at the subjects plight, as she had in the past. Next to her, Harry sighed, "It makes you want to jump up and yell at the people in the painting that they don't have to do it, doesn't it? Seems stupid, in retrospect."

Hermione turned to look at Harry, an unnamed emotion filling her chest at his words. She opened her mouth to reply with something, she wasn't sure what, even as she drew breath, when she spotted Neville rounding the corner, staring at the paintings and people with open mouth wonder.

His eyes found them in the crowd of quietly strolling people and widened, his open face showing his excitement. He was wearing an argyle vest over a plaid shirt with what appeared to be tan riding breeches. He walked quickly over to them, sitting next to Hermione and whispering loudly, "All these paintings are still and quiet! I've never seen anything like it. Are all muggle things like these?"

Hermione and Harry glanced at each other, stifling laughs. "Uh, no, Neville, we have moving pictures too. You know, with televisions and films and things like that."

Neville stared at her blankly, clearly not understanding anything she was saying. Neville open and closed his mouth a few times, before shaking his head. "Anyway, we have a lot to talk about, do you want to walk around?" Harry and Hermione nodded, standing.

Neville glanced up at the painting, frowning. "Gloomy sort of painting, isn't? Makes me think of the the Twirling Witch painting up by the astrology tower at Hogwarts. She's about to be executed as well, but right as the axe is falling down she whirls out of the way, disapparating to the edge of the the picture."

It was Harry's turn to look at Neville blankly, not knowing what to think. Hermione coughed. "I'm afraid this young woman wasn't so lucky."

They moved around the edge of the room, speaking quietly. "I have so many questions I'm not even sure where to start, Neville."

"I feel the same way. There's so many things I want to know."

"Maybe we can take turns asking questions. Start with something small until we know what we want to know?" Harry suggested, a step behind them.

They nodded but continued in silence, contemplative. Finally Hermione stopped and looked over at Neville. "I suppose there is really just one question I want to know the answer to. Is there any place in the UK that we can study magic? An independent school or something underground? Harry and I can't be the only muggle raised people to figure out their powers?"

Neville looked at the floor, biting his lip. "I don't know anything definitive…"

"Anything you know can help us, Neville, even if it's just names. We are walking around blind and in danger," Harry said quietly, his expression earnest.

Neville continued to look down at the ground before nodding to himself, deciding something. Very quietly, so that Hermione and Harry had to lean closer to listen to him, he said, "There is one group I know of. I don't know if they are necessarily all good, but they are certainly better than what you'd get if you tried to go into mainstream wizarding society. Mind, even talking about them is very illegal…" Neville glanced around the room nervously, licking his lips.

"They're very pro-muggleborns, very against this administration and the Dark Lord. But, well, they are a bit of a terrorist group. They like to raid Diagon Alley from time to time, and don't get me wrong, I definitely want to stick it to them sometimes, but none of this is really the shop owner's fault, is it? It just seems destructive. And their leader, I heard her name is McGonagall, she use to be a professor at Hogwarts, I heard she lost her mind when their old leader, Dumbledore, died. She did something horrible to Hogwarts, now the place isn't as it use to be. It's lost something, everyone says so. Hogwarts is the center of British wizardry, every witch or wizard in the UK passes through there, and she ruined it. Even the Dark Lord wouldn't have done that, would he?" Neville shook his head, taking a deep breath. "Anyway, at the very least I know that they wouldn't hurt you because of your blood. They're called the Order of the Phoenix."

Harry and Hermione shared a glance over Neville's back, disappointed. "Is there anyone else? We-We've already met them, and we didn't see eye to eye."

Neville looked up at them sharply, his eyebrows raised in surprise. "You've already met them? I-I-How? They are suppose to be impossible to find?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer but Neville cut him off, "No, nevermind, I don't want to know. I don't want to." Neville turned around and walked to the next painting, his shoulders tense. "I'm sorry, then, you two, that's the only group I know of that has dared to resist, that has been known to help Muggleborns. The only other thing I could think of to do is leave the country, but well, that's impossible, at least by magic."

"How do you mean Neville, surely there must be some…"

"No." Neville glanced back and them seriously. "They've made it nearly impossible to leave the country by any magic means. You can leave by muggle, of course, but say that you want to do magic in another country, then you will be found and registered there and they will find out you're British and send you back. When the Dark Lord took over he made a treaty with the continental countries and others that they would leave each other alone. It was a long process, and for a while other countries took refugees in secret, but eventually it became too large of a problem...from what I know, I think all the other wizard societies hate the lot of us now." Neville scratched his head in frustration. "You could all live as muggles somewhere else, I suppose?"

Harry shook his head, "Even if we wanted to that, live as muggles in other countries, we can't, I'm wanted by the muggle law enforcement, too."

Neville stared.

Harry shrugged, "They think I've murdered my family."

Neville's mouth fell open and he took a half step back.

Hermione rolled her eyes, "He didn't actually, Neville, You-Know-Who did."

He glanced between the two of them, pale. "He-He murdered your family?"

Harry nodded as Hermione spoke, "He also ki-almost killed Harry, destroyed my home, and forced my parents to go on the run."

Neville shook his head, frowning. "You're parents were able to get out then?"

"Yes, by muggle means, to Australia."

Neville shook his head some more. "You two are properly, well, fucked. I-I don't even know what to suggest."

Hermione reached out for Harry's hand, fighting the sinking feeling in her stomach. Harry squeezed her hand softly, running his thumb over the back of it.

Neville suddenly stood tall, his expression serious. Hermione again saw a glimpse of the kind of man he was becoming. "No, I'm sick of this, of being helpless, watching all this...this wrong happen. At the very least, I will help you, I'll..." Neville looked around the Gallery like he hoped to find the answer written across a nobleman's pale forehead. "I'll...I'll teach you!"

"I'll come round to your place every once and awhile, when I can, it won't be frequently, as I have to finish up school, but...but during breaks. And! And I can owl you all...hmmm, maybe that will be a little conspicuous...I'll have to think through some details, but at least if you are stuck here, you might as well learn something while you try to figure another way out, or, or you come up with something else to do."

Hermione looked up at him, her eyes watery. Harry cleared his throat. "You don't have to do that, mate, that sounds like a lot of work for you. And not to mention just a little dangerous, as Hermione and I aren't exactly well liked by the government."

Neville shook his head, his eyes sincere. "No, I actually really want to. I've stood by for so long...and people should help their friends…"

Hermione held back a sob and threw her arms around Neville, who patted her arm awkwardly. "Oh Neville, thank you."

Hermione stepped back from him, dabbing her eyes with her wrists. "W-What questions do you have for us, Neville? At the very least we can teach you somethings as well."

He smiled down at them, blushing "Well, first, what is a film?"

* * *

Next to them Neville sat gasping, asking too many questions. ("But why doesn't that robber just give up? Clearly that little boy is smarter than them?") He kept going in carrying whispers until the person in front of him turned around and snapped at him to kindly shut up. Neville blushed but continued to watch the film, enraptured, stuffing his face full of popcorn.

Hermione watched the film and Neville with equal amusement, turning to look at Harry with a small smile that dropped as soon as she saw him. Harry wasn't watching the movie at all, but was instead staring at her with frown. She leaned close and whispered, "What's wrong?"

Harry looked at her for a long minute, before shaking his head. "I think I have to fight."

Hermione's brows furrowed in confusion. "Fight what?"

"Vol...You-Know-Who."

Hermione leaned back from him, looking at his serious face intently and snorted. "You can't be serious? Fight him with what? Your ability to half transform a shirt into a cloak? Or perhaps with the cunning trick of being able to stun a room on accident and then pass out afterward?"

Harry looked at her, a strange sort half smile on his face. "Shut up." He shoved a handful of popcorn into her mouth, laughing as she narrowed her eyes and hit him on the shoulder, chewing.

Harry looked back towards the screen, grinning, but Hermione continued to look at him, worried.

* * *

Hermione wandered into her parent's living room and flopped down on the couch across from her parents, who were doing the Granger family pass time, reading. Her mother was leaning against her father, her head against his shoulder, his arm around her, the other hand holding up a black book. It was a beautiful spring day, the curtains blowing gently in the wind, the late afternoon sun filling the room through the bay windows. The air smelled of wet grass and flowers. Hermione gave a relaxed sigh, looking at her parents' focused faces with a feeling of content. She tried to lean back into the couch, but was finding it annoyingly difficult to get comfortable.

The couch felt like it had lumps in strange places, or the fabric was rubbing her the wrong way. She squirmed in her seat for a while before giving up and leaning forward on her elbows. Her mother turned the page of her book, which Hermione now realized was "The Art of War" by Sun Tzu. Hermione snorted. "Mum, why on earth are you reading that?"

Her mother glanced up at her with dark stern eyes that didn't belong in her face, her hair back in a tight, smooth bun that Hermione had never seen her in before. "I think that should be obvious, Hermione."

Hermione's heart started to beat faster, a feeling of foreboding filling her. "I-I don't understand what you mean?"

Next to her a quiet whisper answered, "Why, because you're going to war, Hermione." Hermione turned and saw on the other end of the couch, sitting primly, Lady Jane Grey. As she turned to look back at Hermione, her head slid gracefully from her neck into her lap, her eyes wide and dripping tears.

* * *

Hermione's eyes snapped open but she laid still and silent, trying to get her breathing under control. Her eyes adjusted the the darkness, taking in the vague shapes of their battered transfigured furniture, Harry laying on his back next to her. She realized with a jolt that his eyes were open, the gleam barely noticeable in the dim lighting of the room.

Hermione's mind was wide awake, her heart beat not slowing in the slightest as she stared at Harry's dark profile. "Harry."

Harry's face quickly looked towards her, surprised. He rose unto his elbow, looking down at her through the blackness. "Hermione? What are you doing up?"

Hermione waited three breaths to get her thoughts straight. "You weren't joking, were you? In the theatre?"

Harry stilled above her, silent for a long moment, then whispered, "no."

Hermione brought her shaking hands up her temples, swallowing a lump in her throat. After a beat she reached for her wand and tapped it against the wall, muttering lumos. The room's lamps lit up. Hermione and Harry sat up, looking at each other. "What can you possibly be thinking?" Hermione's voice shook with emotion.

Harry sighed and shook his head, his fingers combing through his hair. "It's not like I...like I've decided that the order has the right of it, Hermione. I know that however hard I train, I won't be able to fight him and win. We saw him back at your parent's house, he was…" Both They shuddered. "Look, the point is that we can't do this forever."

Hermione's eyes glanced around the shabby room, to the corner with their ever-shrinking pile of money, the once again empty cooler. "So your solution is to fight him?"

Harry frowned. "We can't run, Hermione, and we can't keep hiding." He turned more fully towards Hermione, sitting cross legged in their makeshift bed. "So that leaves one option."

"To fight?" Hermione asked, her tone empty, her mind working fast.

"Yes, though not stupidly, not by, just...just jumping in front of him and hoping for the best." Harry's voice was adamant, his face more alive then Hermione remembered it being in a long time.

"Yes, we saw what happened the last time you jumped in front of him." Hermione's voice seemed to come from far away, she was thinking as hard as she could, something just out of her reach dancing the shadow of her thoughts. "What are you thinking of then?"

Harry's focused look froze on his face, momentarily stumped. "Well... since we can't fight him with brute force, we have to be more subtle. And also, we have to find the other horcruxes and destroy them too, which might take some time…" Harry's voice trailed off, his shoulders slumped, an uncertain look on his face.

"We need to write to Neville." Now Hermione's back straighten, her fevered thoughts clearing into a sense of purpose.

"About what?"

"About the current wizarding world climate. The political climate I mean. I've been reading the modern history of magical Britain, about the changes that You-Know-Who made in the last decade...Really, the whole book is propaganda, but if you read between the lines… a lot of things sound really terrible, I mean dementors are everywhere... even Neville, who should be at the top, doesn't… Hogwarts has fallen apart…" Hermione's voice lost power as she spoke, dissolving into a quiet muttering. She reached toward her bag, pulling a thick book, a pen, and a piece of paper and started writing, Harry reading over her shoulder.

"Neville told us that he will write to us tomorrow, and we would be able to send a reply with the owl." Hermione paused both her speaking and writing and looked over at Harry. "They had an owl shop in Diagon Alley, do you think he means a real owl?" Hermione asked incredulously.

Harry scoffed. "It must be an acronym for something else, I mean, what, they use owls like messenger pigeons?"

Hermione shrugged and started writing again.

 _Dear Neville,_

 _How are you doing? Did you enjoy the last of your winter break? You mentioned feeling nervous about your N.E.W.T.s, are you busy preparing for them? Harry and I are doing well, we've been doing a lot of thinking._

 _Well, Neville, while of course we would still love your help learning, we think that we might have another idea in mind too. But before we can even begin thinking about that, we need to ask, in all sincerity, how do you feel? Not just you, but everybody? Your classmates, your family? In particular, how do you all feel about this government you're under? I'm not talking about what they think of blood purity, or what have you, but what do they think of the day to day?_

 _Do they think things are okay, that they are fair, or do you think, if they weren't so frightened, that if things were different, that they would want to things to change? The point in asking all of this is that, you had mentioned before that if people were to met us, it would cause quite a stir. But what kind of stir, do you think?_

Hermione paused, tapping the end of her pen against her mouth. "I think I should leave it like this for now, we might have to respond to something in Neville's letter, as well."

Harry took the letter from Hermione as she shoved the pen and book back in her bag. "Are you asking him if our showing up some place, some place public, and, what, saying something, I don't know, anti-Monster, might cause a revolution?"

Hermione bit her lip, her cheeks flushing. "Well, when you put it like that, it does sound a little silly, doesn't it?" Hermione shrugged. " I guess, I don't know, Neville said that it would be a big deal, show that they aren't all knowing, right?"

Harry nodded, lying back down in the bed. Hermione followed, tapping her wand against the wall and whispering nox before turning to face Harry in the darkness. "The way it looks like to me, the way that he took over is partly because he frightened everybody and partly because there was something wrong with wizarding society in the first place. He staked his claim based on blood purity, right? If the wizarding world hadn't already kind of thought that muggleborns were awful, he wouldn't have been able to get a foot in the door at all. So we can't fight him physically, but we can fight his ideology and we can fight the fear he has placed everybody under. If what Neville says is true, if I interpreted him correctly, then if me, a muggleborn with perfectly fine magic, and you, the Boy-Who-Lived, show up, it then not only proves that he isn't all powerful, but also if you and me talk about how things don't have to be the way they are, then maybe, maybe…"

"We could start a revolution." Harry finished for her. Hermione nodded. She could feel his hand moving towards her and felt his fingers lightly pull at her curls. "You're a smart lady, Hermione Granger." Hermione smiled into the crook of her elbow at his sincerity. But then Harry sighed, "A few problems though. I hardly think that that monster or any of his followers are going to let us wander around the wizarding public, spreading propaganda. And also, for all we know, Neville might be an exception. The rest of the intact wizarding world might be fine with how things are."

Hermione rolled onto her back, thinking. "The first problem is just a logistical problem." Next to her, Harry snorted. Hermione breathed out a small laugh. "A very large logistical problem, but a logistical problem, which is something we can potentially figure out. As for the second, well… We will just have to wait and see what Neville says."

* * *

The next morning Hermione woke to hooting. Rubbing her eyes, confused, she turned on the lights. she heard it again, apparently coming from the other side of the door. Hermione stood up and walked towards it, pulling a robe on as she went. Behind her she her Harry groan and push himself out of bed, grumbling, "What is that sound?"

Hermione waited in front of the door for a moment, listening. She heard it softly this time. If she didn't know any better, it sounded almost irritated. She pulled the door open cautiously, glancing at Harry behind her who looked a mix between grave and curious, his wand clutched in his hand. Swinging the door the rest of the way open, Hermione revealed...nothing. No one was there.

A sharp hoot came from below, this time definitely irritated. Hermione looked down towards the noise and gasped. Harry came in closer behind her and also looked down, then burst out laughing. Hermione started shaking her head. "No, no, it's too stupid, they actually use owls."

Out in the hallway a brown scoop owl stared at Hermione indignantly before ruffling his feathers. He stuck out his leg, which had a white envelope in a small pouch attached to it. Hermione stared down at it, still shaking her head. "I...I just can't. Harry… Harry, you… can you?" Hermione moved away from the door, towards her half finished letter. "I just can't believe it."

Harry, still chortling, moved towards the owl and cautiously put in on his shoulder. He took the letter from it's leg and started reading. Hermione came back over, to Harry's shoulder without the owl, and read too.

 _Dear H and H!_

 _I feel nervous sending this out by owl, sometimes it's not the safest method of communication_ (Hermione scoffed) _but I think that it should be okay for now, at least for a little bit. I thought we might do this a bit like what we did in the art gallery and take turns asking questions._

 _First, thanks for taking me to the cinema, that was brilliant! I guess I was just wondering what other films you might suggest? I feel like I learned a lot about muggles from the last one. (Though I'm hoping ( for the muggle's sake) that robbers aren't that common, though I do wonder if it is usual to forget children and leave them home alone like that?)_

 _Second, I guess this isn't as light hearted a question, but, Hermione, are you sure that there aren't any wizards in your family? That you aren't adopted or something? It's just...well, we've been taught that there are no such things as muggleborns, that they either stole their magic or were secretly from families with wizards somewhere in it. I obviously don't think you stole your magic from someone, but I don't know, I guess I just want to make sure that you really truly are a muggleborn. I hope this question doesn't offend._

 _Third, and equally awkward, Harry, do you perhaps, remember, or some how know, why you survived, or what happened that night? The night you got your scar?_

 _I guess that's enough questions for now. I wrote this letter about 10 times, changing my mind on what I wanted to ask, what I wanted to say. I hope that you all don't hate me now, but those things have been on my mind, and I hope that you understand. I'm willing to answer any questions too, if you all still want to talk to me._

 _Your friend,_

 _Neville_

 _PS. The owl's name is Mercury. Just put your (hopeful) reply in the pouch, he'll know how to find me._

Hermione took the letter from Harry, sat down, and finished her letter, Harry now reading over her shoulder. She wrote a list of movies, assured Neville that she wasn't adopted, nor had any wizards in her family that she knew of, and glanced at Harry before writing that they would have to meet face to face to answer the last question. She finished the letter with a small rant about how, while the owl seemed very smart, she insisted on finding a better way to communicate as soon as possible.

They sent the letter off after giving the owl some water and crackers.

Hermione glanced up at Harry, a strange expression on her face. "Neville, in a way, already answered one of my questions, though."

"How so?"

"They taught him anti-muggleborn propaganda, and like all stupid dictators, he made that propaganda obviously, provably false. I am that proof, me, and hopefully dozens more out there are proof of his lying."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

When Harry was almost sixteen years old, he sat outside of Lauren's office, his leg bouncing with nerves. He kept wiping the sweating palms of his hands against his jean clad knees, trying to remain calm. He really needed this job. He wished he had something other than jeans to wear, worn out, baggy jeans at that. But he couldn't buy better clothes without money and he was worried he wouldn't be able to get money without better clothes. He never had an interview before but everything said that he should dress nicely. He knew he wasn't dressed nicely.

Lauren opened the door, glancing down at his pathetic "resume" before glancing back up at him. "Harry Potter?"

Harry nodded, standing quickly and wiping his hands one last time before reaching out to shake her offered hand.

Three months later he was promoted from busboy to server. At this point he felt comfortable enough at the Winchester, nodding happily at the staff and unconsciously swerving around tables and bric-a-brac with ease, but still felt nervous as he eyed his first table from across the room.

Seated there was a nice, upper-middle class family, by the look of them. Mother, with long wavy brown hair, glancing through the menu, pointing at something to Daughter, her hair a mass of curly chaos, who rolled her eyes. Next to her was Father, his hair also brown, tight curls close to his head. He bumped Daughter's shoulder with his lightly before Mother and Father made eye contact over her head, smiling a shared parental kind of smile. Harry took a deep breath and made his way over to them.

"Hello, welcome to the Winchester. My name's Harry. Were you all looking to start with some drinks?" He smiled at them, looking at theirs foreheads rather than their eyes, his cheeks feelings vaguely warm.

There was a beat before Father looked at him with a grin. "Tell me, ah, Harry, what would you say is something quintessentially British?"

Harry looked at him, his mind blank, his stomach dropping. Quintessentially British? Was this a trick? Was Lauren watching them all from behind a peephole hidden by the wall decorations, shaking her head, marking an x next to the secret server evaluation sheet titled "Basic Server Intuition Checklist: Knowing What is Quintessentially British."

"Ummm…" Harry shifted, looking at the Father with a, what he hoped, was a politely questioning look on his face.

"Come now, Harry, what is a typical British drink?"

Harry shook his head, a little bewildered. "Tea?"

The father slapped his hand down on the table, lightly, looking over at his wife and daughter triumphantly. Mother smiled a smug sort of smile, leaning back in her chair, looking over at Daughter. Now both Father and Mother were looking at Daughter with smug expressions on their faces, their arms crossed over their chests. Daughter glanced between them, exasperated. Daughter glanced up at him, her eyes a deep brown, her smile strangely captivating as she leaned towards him, almost conspiratorially. "Harry, do you drink tea with every meal?"

Harry couldn't help looking at her in the eye, smiling back. "No, of course not." It was Hermione's turn to look triumphantly at her parents.

Father looked back at him with a playful scowl. "Oh yes, take the pretty girl's side, then." Harry smiled back, shrugging, still not fully understanding.

Mother coughed, "We will take three English breakfasts, two cups of Earl Grey and a blasphemous orange juice, please."

Harry nodded, smiling fully now, jotting everything down. "Three Full Monties and blasphemy coming right up."

* * *

Harry and Hermione were sitting in their rapidly becoming crowded hide away, filled with books, papers, and poorly transfigured furniture. They were leaning their heads together, both looking at what appeared to be a hand held mirror. Instead of their reflections, however, there was a round faced boy staring back at them.

"Can you see us both now, Neville?"

"Yes, Yes, more or less. Aren't these great?"

Hermione nodded enthusiastically. "Where on earth did you get these? I haven't read about anything like these at all."

Neville grinned proudly. "I'm not sure exactly who we got them from. G-Gram, she uh, she passed them off to me, before, saying that they were important. For a long time I didn't understand how a couple of plain mirrors could be important, but I'm hardly going to throw something she gave me away, something she said was important. It came to me what they might be when I was reading a letter from you all while getting ready for the day, and well, here we are."

"This will make learning a lot more easy from now on, thank you Neville." Harry said, impressed.

"So, you've sent us about a million and one books, which has just made Hermione pleased as punch, but what do you think you should show us now that you can?" Harry asked, leaning in closer out of enthusiasm, making Hermione scowl and nudge her head with his, making room again.

Neville looked at them, biting his lip before opening his mouth and letting out half a sound and then stopping himself and starting to bite his lip again. He repeated this process for the fourth time when Hermione lost her patience. "Well go on Neville, then, spit it out."

Neville turned a little pink and then quickly started speaking. "Have either of you heard of Dementors?"

"Yes," Hermione supplied right as Harry shook his head no.

Before Neville could say anything, Hermione turned to Harry, annoyed. "But Harry, they were in that book I gave you last week, 'Dangerous Creatures of the Dark.' I thought you said you read it?"

Harry shook his head and rolled his eyes. "No, I said that I started to read it. Along with the 'Rise and Fall of Dark Wizards' and 'Practical Transfiguration' and 'Muggle Madness: the Dumbledore Years.' I'm not you Hermione, I can't get through a book a day."

Hermione looked at him, her mouth opening and closing before sputtering out, "So- So then you haven't finished any of those books? B-But you've been talking about them with me all week!"

Harry smiled back, a little guiltily. "Yes, well, I keep up with you most of the time, but you know, sometimes you get on tangents, and well, why stop you when you're on a roll?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him before speaking, saying, "We will have to talk about this later. Neville? Care to explain to Harry what dementors are, as apparently he has gotten quite use to tuning me out?"

Neville glanced between Harry and Hermione, uncomfortably. "Um, well, so dementors are dark creatures who feed on the happiness of the humans around them, leaving them unable to feel happiness. They make the people they are close to relive their worst memories over and over again. Also, if given the chance, they will suck the soul right out of a person, leaving them a husk of a human being, we call this a Dementor's Kiss."

Harry looked between Neville and Hermione, at their serious faces, and frowned. "Well they sound unpleasant."

Neville snorted before shaking his head. He took a deep breath bordering on a sigh before speaking again. "They use to guard the prison Azkaban but when the Dark Lord came back they started following his orders. By the time that everything was settled, the dementors stopped listening to anybody, really. They sort of fly around in small groups now, attacking people here and there. The ministry tries keep them in control, but it's a half arsed effort, to say the least. I personally think that they like to have them floating around here and there, makes people frightened."

"Anyway, there is a spell that can drive them away called the Patronus Charm. It use to be that not a lot of people could do them. It's a rather hard spell, takes a lot of power, but now everybody tries to learn it. At least they try to get an incorporeal one for themselves, and least one person who can do a corporeal one in the family, in case there is an attack. In my family, I'm the only one who can do a corporeal Patronus." Neville looked at them with a small, proud smile once again on his face.

"So you want to teach us this charm, then? It does sound useful, considering how terrible those creatures sound."

Neville nodded, looking uncertain. "It will be difficult and not to mention hard to test, as it is a lot harder to make a Patronus with a dementor around than without, but at least we can try. First, you have to think of a really happy memory…"

Three hours later, Hermione and Harry were sprawled on the makeshift bed, exhausted. "That was frustrating," Harry murmured, too tired to hold onto his annoyance.

Next to him, Hermione nodded. "It will take a lot of practice. But Harry, you did a great job."

Harry scowled, "I did not, you did much better. My attempts were stupid."

Hermione frowned next to him. "That's not true at all, Neville said that he's never seen so much white mist."

Harry let out an impatient sigh. "That wasn't a good thing Hermione, it's just weird. You don't need lots of mist, you need to make it into a shape. Yours almost took a shape."

Hermione rolled on her side to look at him, annoyance in her eyes. "Are we becoming petty and competitive now, Harry, because I can't say I'm overly pleased with this new attitude. Between this and the fact you have been pretending to listen to me in conversations all last week, I have half the mind to make you sleep on the couch."

Harry rolled on his side to look at her, too, frowning. "We don't have a couch."

Hermione shrugged, half serious, half joking, "That would be your problem."

Harry sighed, his frown softening into something else. "First, I'm sorry about not necessarily telling you I haven't caught up on the books, it's just that you were so enthusiastic, and I didn't, well, I didn't want to disappoint you about not having finished them yet. But really, Hermione, I just can't read as fast as you, just give me a little more time."

Hermione's frowned softened into something else too.

Harry continued. "And no, I'm not trying to become competitive with you. I'm just frustrated with myself. What if we run into those dementors somewhere? If I can't make anything approaching a Patronus now, I probably won't do anything at all if one shows up. How am I supposed to protect us then?"

Hermione's frown came back with renewed force. "Well, then, I'll just have to protect us."

Harry frowned back. " I don't want that."

Hermione lifted herself up on to her elbow, looking down at Harry, her voice sharp. "Why on earth not? Your masculinity couldn't handle being protected by a girl? I have to say Harry, I thought you were more mature than that, to be embarrassed by…"

Harry reached up and flicked her nose, smirking at her. "Calm down Gloria Steinem, that's not what I'm trying to say. You already do, well, everything. To say I feel indebted to you is an understatement. The idea of standing there useless as we are attacked by just the worst sounding creatures, while you once again save me...it just makes me feel pointless, helpless, I don't know, exactly, but at the very least I want to protect you. I at least want to be able to do that."

Hermione looked down at him in a considering way. She fell back onto her back with a huff. "I can understand that feeling, though I don't necessarily agree with you. Really, I haven't saved you from anything. And, Harry, let's not forget that time you actually _died_ for me, so I rather think I'm indebted to you."

Harry shrugged at her with a half smile. "That's different."

"How do you figure?" Hermione's voice was incredulous.

"Because that was easy. Just a half step in front of you, my life for yours, it was obvious. To die like that, it takes a half second of thought, natural as anything. But you, you keep living with me. Everyday. So many decisions you've made, time and again, to stick with me. I, I'm not sure what I'm trying to say. I guess I'm saying, in its own way, my dying for you was easy, but your living with me, that takes real work."

"Oh Harry." Hermione looked at him, her face full of emotion. "You aren't work to live with."

Harry looked at her with an almost indulgent smile, his disbelief coming through. Hermione moved towards him, pressing her face against his chest muttering, "You don't have to sleep on our nonexistent couch."

Harry chuckled as he wrapped his arms around her.

* * *

They had been training for this. They had been practising with Neville for months. But that didn't stop Harry's mouth from feeling dry, his heart heart pounding, as he looked out at the pureblood rally.

The crowd around the stage was spaced oddly. Harry wasn't sure why he noticed this at first as his mind was racing through a million and one other, more important, things. But he couldn't help but notice it, notice the way that no one was touching, nobodies' shoulders brushing, no children up on parents' backs, no lovers holding hands. Everyone was standing as though waiting in line at the post office, at least a foot between each other, all looking one direction, their faces grave. The air burned with silence, the thumping of people moving around the podium on stage reverberated around the square.

Even though he was already chanting Expecto Patronum tirelessly in his head, even though he already knew beyond a doubt that he could do it. Even though he was clutching his wand with white knuckles, he still couldn't help being distracted by the realization that there were no children in the crowd at all. He glanced involuntarily at Hermione who was making her way across the crowd towards the stage. He could catch glances of her face between people's shoulders. He could see the distress etched around her eyes and he knew that she also sensed that something was terribly off.

The atmosphere seemed less like a rally and more like a public execution.

* * *

The otter patronus was beautiful, the way it swam around his head more gracefully than its real counterpart could ever be. It's silvery light should have been creepy or unnatural in their small room but instead it was iridescent, shifting between the bright sliver of sun on water to the calm pearly silver of the moon on grass and every shade between. It tucked into a small dive by Harry's head to his feet and then glided across the floor back to Hermione, who reached out her hand and touched her fingertips to its nose before it melted away into the air.

Watching Hermione with her small smile full of something calmer and more powerful than joy, her eyes still illuminated by the glow of the patronus, her wand held in her hand like an extension of herself, Harry felt certain of something. Certain of the thrum in the air after the spell, the way that thrum echoed in his own wand, the way that thrum filled his lungs like air.

Magic is wonderful.

"Your turn, Harry." Hermione smiled encouragingly at him.

"Hermione! That was brilliant. An otter patronus. Mine's a, well, mine's a um, well, haha, not important, point is good job Hermione!" Neville's pleased face was looking at them from the mirror, propped up in the three legged arm chair in the corner of the room. "I figured you'd be able to do it soon, considering how fast you picked up on it. Now Harry, you clearly have the power for it, if we could just concentr…"

"Now, now Neville, you can't just expect to change the subject like that, can you? What is it?" Harry grinned at Neville's frustrated face.

"It's not my patronus that's important here, Harry. We need to get you…"

"Is it a toad?" Harry guessed, his smile turning sly.

Neville flushed, "No, it's not. Now…"

"Is it a sloth?" Hermione supplied, sliding in closer to Harry, wearing an astonishingly similar smile.

Neville glanced between them. "You two aren't going to let this go, are you?"

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other, fully smiling.

"Rabbit?"

"Piglet?"

"Ladybug?"

"Oooh, good one, how about butterfly?" Both started laughing.

"Koala bear."

"Kangaroo."

"Pony."

"Llama."

"Turtle! Alright! It's a turtle, are you lot happy now?"

There was a beat of silence before Harry and Hermione burst out into peals of laughter.

"Tu-turtle. Turtle. Wha-what do you do if the Dementor changes direction, Ne-Neville?" Hermione asked, trying to stifle her laughter at seeing Neville's expression of exasperation.

"Do you just carry it towards them? Oh, or maybe you throw the turtle towards them?" Harry asked, his voice wavering under the pressure of suppressed laughter.

"Ha bloody ha. It's a sea turtle, you berks. It swims like Hermione's otter does."

Hermione huffed, grinning. "Well, that's much less funny then."

Neville rolled his eyes. "Can we get back on track here, people? Harry, we are really going to focus on you here on out. Try to concentrate on something purely happy, as pure a happy memory as you can. Not like that time you tried to use the memory of kicking a ball off your cousin's head, pretty much the opposite of that, honestly."

Harry felt the grin slid off his face as he racked his brain for a purely happy memory. He knew he could skip past anything involving the Dursleys. That cut out a lot of things, including pretty much all of primary school as Dudley had been there for that. It would have to be something from Stonewall or the Winchester.

Harry thought about the first time Mr. Alberic kept him after class, handing him an A on his paper, eagerly telling him that he thought Harry had talent. "You have a sense of gravity about you, Harry, maturity that a lot of your classmates haven't come into yet, it shows in your writing. I also noticed you out in PE class running ahead of the rest. Have you thought about joining a team…?" Harry had been so taken aback by the onslaught of compliments he actually glanced behind him to make sure that he had been talking to him and not some unseen classmate right behind him.

Harry tried to hold on to that feeling of happy surprise as he said out loud with conviction, "Expecto Patronum." He could feel the magic moving out through his wand and tried to concentrate on Mr. Alberic's sincerely enthusiastic face. Unbidden, the image of Mr. Alberic's face looking still eager but gravely ill in the hospital accompanied it and try as he might Harry couldn't hang onto the feeling of happy surprise without also feeling a pang of grief.

Sighing, Harry opened his eyes and saw that the room was once again full of silvery fog, grayer than Hermione's patronus and quickly disappearing into the air like steam by a window.

In the chair Neville sighed. "I just haven't seen anything like it before. What did you think of this time?"

Harry shook his head, frowning. "I'm going to try again, I can do this, I just need something different."

The Winchester then, something from there. Last time he tried a memory of the cooks laughing with him in the back, but Neville said that had been too vague. It had to be a very specific happy memory. He tried to think of something specific, but he was oddly coming up blank. The Winchester was great because of the general feeling of being liked, a certain sense of familiarity, not because of any one...

Harry stood up straighter. He did have a specific happy memory. He felt annoyed with himself for taking so long to remember it. His seventeenth birthday, how could he forget? He brought to mind his surprise at walking in for one of the twice yearly restaurant wide meetings to see the glittering happy birthday banner and a cake waiting in the center of the restaurant. Lauren, the cooks, the other servers, and the bartenders were all standing around it. They all yelled, more or less at the same time, "Happy Birthday!" Harry stood there shocked, his mouth falling open. Everyone started laughing at him.

"Harry, mate, don't get too touched, we chipped in for a store bought cake and the sign is from Poundland."

"Yeah, we didn't even do anything, 'cept stand here and laugh at your dumb gob." Ben, a bartender, supplied from the back of the crowd. Harry remember swallowing thickly, feeling touched all the same.

"Thanks everybody, seriously."

They all smiled and nodded, Lauren moving forward to cut the cake.

Harry felt a smile pull on his face naturally this time. Without trying to think too much he said the incantation. The mist from his wand was much brighter this time, curling more and more into itself, making a shape, something large. Harry, still smiling, was thinking of how it was really decent of them, no matter how they tried to brush it off. Harry remembered hearing later that Lauren actually got up extra early to go pick up the cake from her favorite baker. Harry was wondering how they were all doing when felt his stomach clench at the realization that they were all still out there, thinking that he had murdered his family. The Patronus abruptly dimmed and started pushing outward in the same thick gray fog as before. Harry let out his breath and dropped his wand down to his side, frustrated.

Neville sighed, "Damn, I really thought you were going to do it this time, Harry. What were you thinking of? What happened?"

Harry shrugged. "I think I'm just a depressing bloke, honestly."

Neville frowned at him from the mirror. "I never thought of you a downer or anything Harry. Why don't you think of Hermione, that should be happy enough?"

Harry shook his head. "Hermione isn't a memory, though. I mean, she standing right here, it just seems, I don't know, I just wouldn't be able to concentrate."

Neville pulled a face and made a gagging noise. "You would be so overcome with the power of your love for her you wouldn't be able to concentrate?"

Harry shook his head, grinning. "I don't really mean it that way. I'm not sure what I'm trying to say, really, other than I've already thought of using memories of Hermione, of course, it just doesn't seem right, with her standing here. She just doesn't seem like a memory, you know, something you pull from within?"

Neville and Hermione looked thoughtful, glancing at each other. Hermione broke the silence. "It's something to think about. I'm exhausted anyway, I wouldn't mind rapping up, actually."

"I have detention tomorrow, so we will have to wait until the day after to try again, I'm afraid."

Harry and Hermione nodded, moving closer to the mirror to say goodbye. "What did you get detention for, Neville?"

Neville grinned half ruefully, half proundly. "I punched Draco Malfoy in the nose."

Harry smiled while Hermione frowned. "Awesome, Neville."

"Oh honestly, Harry, it's not awesome. It's stupid to resort to violence. It doesn't seem like you, Neville."

Neville grinned a private sort of grin. "Believe me Hermione, if you ever met him, you'd want to punch him the nose too."

* * *

"I know it's a little dangerous to be hanging out in the open like this, what with you being a wanted man and all, but you have to admit it Harry. This feels nice."

It was a freakishly warm day for February and Harry and Hermione put their fears aside and went to the park by their hide away, a small place with a wide lawn and a few swings. Hermione flopped herself on her back and stretched out her limbs as far as they would go, looking like a cat finding the warmest patch of light by the window. Harry sat down next her cross legged, looking anxiously around the park for anything odd.

Hermione looked at the expression of his face with a huff. "You know you're being bad when _I'm_ telling you to lighten up, Harry."

Harry glanced down at her, grinning. "Oh, I see, if your going to be the carefree one now, the least I could do is help you out with it." Harry reached over and poked her side under her cardigan.

Hermione jerked violently away. "Oh no you don't, Harry Potter!"

Harry's smile widened as he leaned more towards her. "Oh, I think I will." Harry grasped her sides and tickled, Hermione laughing, slapping away his hands, gasping for air, her face pink, her eyes bright with laughter.

Very suddenly she stopped laughing and gave a different gasp all together, grabbing Harry's hand, her eyes wide looking over his shoulder. Harry whipped his head around, his hand moving towards his wand.

For a second he couldn't comprehend what he was seeing. Running full tilt towards them, his long limbs pumping him closer to them by the second, his red hair flying behind him, was Ron Weasley. Harry and Hermione stood, pulling towards each other, not sure what to do.

Ron was coming close now, skidding to a stop a bit away from them, his eyes also wide. "Blimey, it really is you two. I, What, I'm not sure, I'm just not...Look, I don't know what you both are doing here and I know we didn't part in the best terms when I saw you last, but you have to help me." Ron spoke in a rush, his hands on his knees, taking deep, shuddering breaths.

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other, uncertain. Ron shook his head, his expression hard to read. "Look, I wouldn't trust me if I were you guys either, I mean, I said a lot of things, I'm sure if I had been in your shoes...The point is that the Order wasn't particularly surprised when you lot bolted, a lot of us don't blame you, I mean some do, McGonagall and Moody had a fit, but my family didn't, not really…" Ron took more deep breaths, his breathing become more even. He stood up straight.

"What I'm really getting at here is that I pissed off some Death Eaters and they are on my tail. I can't use magic for a bit. I'm not sure how, but they can track it for awhile if they are in the same area and I just fought with them, so they know what to look for. There are dementors flying around here now, too. I saw you guys as I was running up the street and I couldn't believe it, but I had to come see. Anyway, if you two could help me hide out for a little bit, just you know, anywhere, I'd be right greatful."

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other again, frowning. Hermione cocked an eyebrow and shrugged. Harry's frowned deeped. He glanced back at Ron considering before glancing back at Hermione. He nodded his head towards the park exit. Hermione nodded at Ron and muttered, "Well, come on, then."

Ron's face broke into a relieved sort of smile and followed after Hermione, his long legs catching up with her short ones easily as she walked quickly towards the gate, Harry following behind them, glancing over his shoulders. He couldn't be sure if he was imagining it or if it was coincidence, but he thought the air seemed distinctly colder than it had just a few minutes ago.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Harry and Hermione stood on either side of the stage. Harry wished desperately that Hermione was standing closer to him. This plan was stupid, so many unknown variables, so many things could go wrong. All he wanted to do was protect Hermione but instead she was putting herself in active danger. His heavy heart seemed to be warring actively with the part of his brain that said Hermione wasn't ever going to allow it to be any different.

The people on stage stopped moving the podium into place and moved to the back of the stage, their hands clasped in front of them, their heads bowed, their shoulders hunched as though waiting to be hit. They wore entirely black. Looking around the crowd, Harry noticed that everyone was wearing muted colors to match the solemn looks on their faces.

The only flash of color was from a girl standing in the middle of the crowd, probably the youngest person Harry had seen in the courtyard. She wore a dark cloak like everyone else, but Harry could have sworn that he saw what looked like bright red radishes hanging from her ears before they were covered by her astoundingly long blonde hair.

Harry shook his head, wondering if he was becoming delusional with nerves and looked back towards the stage only to shake his head in astonishment again.

Bounding up the steps on the left side of the stage was man wearing robes of a garish bright neon green with midnight blue stars and moons along the sleeve cuffs and the hem. Peeking out from underneath the robes as he walked briskly across the stage were shiny dress shoes of the brightest orange. He blond hair was parted neatly on the left side, his bright smile stretched across his face in what would have been a handsome smile had there not been something manic about it. Following up behind him was a woman, short and squat, dressed entirely in pink, a strangely inappropriately aged bow clipped to her curls. She too wore a wide smile, though hers was more a genuine, mean looking smile lying naturally across her face.

The man almost skidded to a stop behind the podium in his enthusiasm. He voice echoed painfully around the courtyard, his voice slicing through the utter silence like slap to each individual's face. "Hello everybody! It is so wonderful to see you all here on this day, the day of the wizarding world's salvation by the Dark Lord ten years ago. You might recognize my voice from Purity Radio, but in case you live under a rock, I'm Charlie Mendacium! With me today to represent the Ministry is our very honored guest, the director of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, Dolores Umbridge. Today we have quite the treat for you."

Charlie Mendacium paused as though he expected the crowd to break out in excited whispers or perhaps even in applause for him or the woman from the ministry, but the crowd remain silent and still except for people wincing or covering their ears from his booming voice. He continued on as though he hadn't noticed. "Yes, yes, quite the treat. Today everybody here will get to witness the gift of law. The gift of seeing your government work for you, right in front of your eyes. Today we will see a known terrorist brought to justice. A member or the Order of the Phoenix."

* * *

Seeing Ron sitting in their hideaway made Hermione aware of a few things. It was really crowded and rather messy. The smell was also not that great, too much of Harry and Hermione in the stale air. It also made her aware of how much she started to view this room as sanctuary, how uneasy it made her to see that sanctuary violated by Ron, breathing heavily in the three legged chair. Harry was standing by the door, wand loosely held in his hand, his face a mask.

Ron placed his head in his shaking hands and muttered, "Shit, shit, shit." He rubbed his hands over his face a few times before looking between Harry and Hermione, nervous.

"Seriously, thank you. I was in some real trouble. Ran into some Dementors, had to fight them off, but I guess they were doing work for Death Eaters, they didn't take too kindly to me fighting them off. Had to start fighting them off as well...barely got away. But I could feel them coming after me."

Harry spoke sharply from the door. "Will they be able to follow you here?" Ron looked over at him, shaking his head. "I don't think so, I mean, I was going to have to use magic to get away from all that, but since you two are hiding me now, I don't have to magic away, which will make it harder…"

Harry pushed away from the door, he face still hard, but set now in anger, his wand gripped tighter in his hand. "We need better than 'I don't think so' Ron. If you put Hermione in danger I swear…"

"Harry, we had to help him." Hermione said quietly, looking at Ron.

"Why? Last time we saw him he was all for throwing me under the Vol- the Monster bus." Harry took another step closer to Ron, the shock of running into him so suddenly fully wearing off, leaving only anger.

Hermione snorted. "You don't have to remind me Harry. I recall that conversation just fine. But remember what else we said?" Harry looked at her blankly. Hermione rolled her eyes. "They aren't our real enemies. You heard what Nev…" Hermione glanced nervously over at Ron, licking her lips, "what our friend said. The Order of the Phoenix is the only known group against the current establishment. We might not agree with their methods and certainly not with how they think this will be resolved, but they aren't the real problem. Besides, we can hardly forget that Ron's own mother more or less let us escape." Hermione looked up at Harry imploringly, her eyebrows raised.

Harry's face softened, glancing uncertainly at Ron, who seemed to let out a breath as Harry lowered his wand again.

Ron spoke quietly, looking at his hands. "After you all left everybody was a bit of a mess. To say that we argued is a bit of an understatement, more like we dueled. Moody and McGonagall were in a right state, Mum let them have it for putting that all on you all at once and Remus and Tonks pretty much said that they would have run away too, after all that, and that they should have handled everything differently. To have our last hope run away like that, we realized what a mess of things we made of things." Ron shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck and looked apologetically up at Harry. "We should have worked with you more, treated you better, you both really, rather than try to order you around like you were some captive or something. It wasn't on, mate. I'm sorry. We're sorry."

Harry looked down at Ron, his face softening further, uncertain. Hermione, conversely, felt anger rise in her chest. "Still going on about that 'our last hope' business though, aren't you?" Ron looked over at Hermione, his face reddening.

His expression settled somewhere between uncertain and angry. "I understand it's hard to accept, and I really don't think we went about everything right, but it doesn't change anything. Harry is the Chosen One. It has been proph…"

Hermione let out an angry huff, crossing her arms and legs. "Then nothing has changed between any of us. How long will it be before you think you can go? And how do we know that you won't tell anyone where we are, Ron?"

Ron closed his mouth around his words, his eyes narrowing, his ears and cheeks almost glowing in anger, his mouth a frustrated line. Hermione and Ron glared at each other for a long minute before Ron let out a few shaky breaths and rubbed his face again. "Another couple hours, if you don't mind? As for not telling anybody where you are...I guess you will just have to take my word for it. I really won't tell anyone. It's only fair, after you helped me like this."

Hermione continued to glare at Ron. "And you won't bring your family or friends around our neighborhood? You won't make up some "coincidence" to bring them here?"

Ron looked at her, an unhappy expression on his face. He clenched his wand tighter in his hand. "I swear on my honor as a wizard that I will not intentionally bring the Order of the Phoenix to you." Hermione felt, more than heard, a sort of gong ring through the room as some sort of magic took hold.

Hermione let out a slow breath and uncrossed her arms and legs. "Alright then."

Harry, Hermione and Ron looked around at each other, frowning, a tense, uncomfortable silence filling the air.

Harry sighed and crossed the room to sit next to Hermione on the bed. He picked up a book and started flipping through it, placing his wand in his lap. Hermione looked at him for a moment before shrugging and grabbing a book herself. Ron stilled and looked at them for awhile before frowning and leaning back in the chair with a thunk, twirling his wand in his hand and staring in the middle distance.

* * *

A few hours later the sun was starting to set as Harry and Hermione walked a few paces behind Ron, heading towards the park. The only sound was the their muffled footsteps as they walked to the middle of the darkened lawn. Ron turned, looking at them, hesitating. "Well, thank you guys again… I wish that…" Ron sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, his expression hard to read. "Just. Thanks."

Hermione looked up into his face, biting her lip, feeling a mix of emotions. "Stay safe, Ron, please." Ron looked down at her, a half smile on his face, and nodded. Harry and Ron looked at each other, giving a single nod to each other before Ron turned on the spot and disappeared with a crack.

Harry sighed and grabbed Hermione's hand, putting his fingers between hers. Silently they turned around and headed back towards their place. By the gate Harry muttered, "We really have to learn to do that."

"Do what?"

"Apparate."

Hermione hummed in agreement, the gate swinging out with a creak when all of a sudden Hermione felt like she had been plunged into cold water, the night turning into a tangible thing around her. Hermione felt Harry grip her hand tighter. Her breath was coming out in front of her in icy puffs. She could hear deep rasping breaths coming closer.

Hermione turned around and saw three towering cloaked figures gliding swiftly towards them from the center of the park, from the spot where Ron had left, like nightmares materialized. Unbidden, the image of Harry, his lifeless eyes staring up at her, the smell of the roof on fire, the feeling of her parents panicked hands trying to pull her away come upon her, so powerful she forgot she wasn't there. Only the feeling of Harry's fingers loosening in her hand brought her back.

Harry, Harry was still here, Harry was right next to her, she need to protect him, he was still alive. Hermione felt him fall to his knees next to her and she fell with him, shaking, the cold in her muscles, in her bones, in her very blood. She thought about him, looking at his face as he slept, his heart beating strong against her ear as she laid her head on his chest. " E-Expecto Patronum. Expecto Patronum. Expecto Patronum!" A bright silvery shield exploded in front of her and the smell of fire left her nose, the vision of Harry's dead eyes cleared away, showing Hermione the present Harry slumped on the ground, his eyes distant, his mouth forming silent words.

All the strength left Hermione's body, everything becoming dim. She slumped on the ground next to Harry and desperately grabbed his hand. The shield flickered for a second, the Dementors slipping in closer, their rattling breaths filling her ears. She felt Harry's hand squeeze her's and she looked over at Harry, who was looking at her, raising into a sitting position. A shot of relief flashed through Hermione so strong that the shield burst into a brighter light briefly, pushing the Dementors back a few feet. But the burst of magic seemed to be the last of Hermione's strength. She fell against Harry, she felt her shield drop. The last thing she knew was the feeling of Harry's arm around her shoulders and the sound of his voice in her ears before everything went black.

* * *

"There's that Potter boy I was talking about earlier."

"God, you're right, his clothes do look like bits of elephant skin. I can smell him from here. Angie, you know, from Ms. Burns class, said that she went to Primary with him and nobody liked him there, either."

"Ohhhh, do you think that he can hear us? His face is turning pretty red." The two girls let out mean spirited giggles and moved away from the table they were setting at to one further away from him.

"Boy, why can't you have neat hair like our Dudley? Must every aspect of you be freakish? I would have your Aunt try to fix it again, but I suppose that it would just pop back up messier, eh? Like with weeds, hmm, or even like you in general, just not having the decency to be respectable." Vernon glared at him over the newspaper at breakfast, his piggy eyes returning to the article in front of him casually as he finished his diatribe.

"Well, what about Harry Potter? He was nice to you in Chemistry the other day?"

"Harry? I guess he's pretty nice, has great eyes. But those glasses."

"Right, and that hair."

"And those clothes."

"Plus he is so skinny he looks like a stiff wind would blow him away."

Harry couldn't hear what else they said as he stopped behind them in the hallway, no longer trying to catch up to his lab partner.

"You know, Freak, I bet you never even had a girlfriend."

"Oh, and you have Dudley? I figured it would be hard for a girl to find your lips to kiss you with all those chins in the way."

Harry leaped nimbly off of the couch as Dudley's fist punched through the air where his head use to be. He stayed on his toes, waiting to see what else Dudley would do. But Dudley just sat back in the couch, such an unfamiliar expression on his usually mean, round face that it took Harry a few beats to recognize it as calm and contemplative.

"You know, yeah, some birds think I'm a bit too hefty for them." Harry's mouth fell open in surprise.

"But I have other things going for me. I'm tough, a good boxer, my grades aren't too bad now that I'm trying. I have confidence and birds like that. Because I know that if I do try I can be great. I have friends and a family that love me. And that's the thing, Freak, you don't. You can try all you want, but at the end of the day you are just some skinny, specky geek that no one loves. And people can tell that. You can try to hide it, whatever, people will always be able to tell, eventually, and nobody wants to be around that for too long, you know? Even if they feel bad for you, that can only take them so far. So joke about me being fat all you want, loser, at least people like me."

Harry's mouth closed so tightly he could feel his teeth grinding. He felt strangely light headed. He wanted to say something about how he was surprised Dudley was able to string so many words together, or about how Dudley was confusing people liking him with fearing him, but he couldn't. He just stepped away from him into the hallway and turned slowly toward the kitchen, unable to speak because he knew, somewhere deep inside, that Dudley was right.

"Why do you always have to get in your uncle's way like that?" Aunt Petunia placed a packet of ice against his eye with a tut, her hands shaking slightly. She sat across from him at the gleaming kitchen table. The bright, spotless white of everything was making his given headache worse. He closed his eyes and breathed through his mouth, trying to lower his heart rate.

"I don't think that you should ever, ever get married." His aunt's voice was lower than usual, sounding sincere. Harry kept his eyes closed, his stomach dropping, his heart rate speeding up again.

"Just imagine, what could you possibly give to anybody? You have no money, we certainly aren't going to help out after you turn eighteen. You aren't very clever or attractive. And...and I suppose you're going to blame Vernon for this, but what else can he do when you are so awful all the time? But, well, you are so difficult, and we had to use a firm hand on you, but you can't go do that to decent people. I mean, you're use to it, getting a few stiff hits when you deserve it. But just because it's all right for you doesn't mean you should go do it to someone else. Do you understand what I'm saying, boy?"

Harry took a few shaky breaths before responding, "You're worried that I'm going to be a wife beater because your asshole of a husband hits me?"

He flenched as Aunt Petunia's hand slapped the table. "Don't you dare blame Vernon for your freakishness, he's trying his best."

Harry opened his eye not covered by the ice pack. "What does it matter anyway, Aunt Petunia? As you have already mentioned, who would have me?" His aunt's face was a bit blurry as she was standing now, but he could still make out her frown. And he wasn't certain, but he thought that he saw her lip trembling.

She jabbed a finger at his face. "Just don't you ever hit a woman, you hear me?"

Harry nodded, frowning. His aunt looked at him for a long moment before nodding to herself. As she left the kitchen Harry felt, feather light, her hand brush across his shoulders. Harry closed his eyes again, swallowing the thick feeling of apprehension and dread the conversation had given him.

* * *

"I don't understand what you are talking about Harry, I like your hair?" Hermione said, grinning.

Harry snorted, shaking his head.

"Really, I always have. It so dark and wild. It looks really soft. I...I've always kind of wanted to run my fingers through it, you know?" Hermione blushed a soft pink.

Harry actually laughed. "I don't know. But you're more than welcome to it."

"Really?"

Harry nodded, grinning, bending his head down towards her. His grin softened into a look of wonder as Hermione, carding her fingers through his hair, smiled widely and said, "Oh, it's even better than I thought."

Hermione was leaning against him, her head on his shoulder. Her breathing seemed odd and it took Harry a little bit to realize that she was sniffing.

"Are...Are you smelling me?"

Next to him Hermione froze for a long moment before letting out a huff. She looked up into his face defiantly, her cheeks red. "Yes. Yes I am."

She turned more fulling towards him and boldly put her face against his chest and breathed in deep. "You can't blame me. It's just that you smell really nice. It's just so you. Like a mix of the outdoors and fabric softener. Even at the Winchester, when you should have smelled like food, you still smelled like this."

"You smelled me at the Winchester?"

She nodded against his chest. "I wasn't the only one, either."

"What?"

"Oh yes, I think half the customers had a bit of a crush on you. Not to mention the staff."

"What?"

Hermione leaned back, looking up into his face in surprise. "You didn't know?"

Harry's mouth fell open a little, bewildered.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "How unobservant of you. That waitress, Lizzy, I think her name was, would be disappointed to know you had no idea. She tried her best to flirt with you."

"Lizzy did? I-I had no idea."

Hermione nodded and put her head back against his chest. "I, of course, didn't like watching it, having a huge crush on you myself, but I didn't blame her for trying. What with your hair, and the way that you smell, and just your general charmingness."

Harry felt a little uncomfortable, wondering if she was very lightly teasing him and he just wasn't picking up on it. "I'm not remotely charming."

Hermione snorted against his chest. "Right, you're just kind and thoughtful and considerate and funny and attractive. And smell good. Nothing charming about that."

Harry pulled away from her, frowning. But looking at Hermione, all he could see was confusion at his frowning face, not even a hint of a mocking smirk or a teasing look in her eyes. He pulled her back to him, putting his lips softly on hers and wondered if perhaps Hermione wasn't just reading people wrong, or just had strange taste in men and didn't know it. Maybe she really thought all of those things about him but just didn't know any better yet.

He packed a snowball loosely and tossed it underhand. It landed on Hermione and fell apart right away. She scowled at him. "What was that, Potter?"

She brought back her arm and threw her snowball at his chest, which landed with a satisfying thunk right in the center.

"Nice one."

Hermione sniffed, stooping to make another one. "I know. So why don't you actually throw a ball at me now that you know I can hold my own?"

Harry shrugged, grinning and patted together a snowball in earnest.

Half an hour later, both Harry and Hermione were panting, out of breath, hiding behind snow forts they hastily built as the battle turned heated. Hermione risked standing above her wall and threw a ball that went right over Harry's head. Harry lobbed a strategic return strike as she was still throwing, which got her right in the stomach. Hermione gasped in surprise and slipped, falling into her snow fort. She laid still for a second and then started shaking. Harry moved quickly from his fort over to her, kneeling next to her. "Hermione! Are you okay? I didn't mean to…" But Harry realized that Hermione was actually shaking with laughter.

"I-I sl-slipped like a dork, Harry." She moved her hat out of her face, her smile wide. She looked up at his relieved face with surprise. "Did you think I was hurt?"

Harry nodded, shrugging, and helped her to her feet. Hermione brushed the snow off of the front of her jacket, sighing. "You're so silly Harry. Sometimes I think you think I'm made of glass."

Harry smiled a little guiltily at her, brushing some snow off of her hat. "I just can't stand the idea of seeing you hurt."

Hermione stared up at him for a long moment, her face turning redder than the cold warranted. "You know, Harry Potter, you are quite the boyfriend. How on earth did I catch you?"

Harry smiled at her, feeling confused but pleased. "Just your bad luck, I suppose. Now let's go make you some hot chocolate. It's freezing."

Harry put his arm around her shoulder and smiled down at her. She looked up at him and very quietly, almost at a whisper, she muttered. "Oh yes, a keeper, this one."

She was lying beneath him, all sighs and gasps, one hand on his arm, the other in his hair. Her eyes were so warm it felt like his very being was melting into a different texture.

"I love you, you know."

Harry looked down at her and thought that yes, perhaps he actually did know. He loved her obviously, entirely, easily, but in that moment, he knew too. He was loved.

He was looking down at her now, her pale face, her lips turning blue, letting out little puffs of air. She was slumped in his lap after having tried to save them both. He could only feel despair at the idea of losing her this way. Despair that he had brought her to this point. The only person he had ever loved. The only person who had ever loved him. The last remnants from her Patronus disappeared, the nightmares were leaning in closer. One reached out and rolled Hermione on her back in Harry's lap. Another one reached out and touched Harry's shoulders gently, almost lovingly.

One of them reached out at touched Hermione's cheek, then her lips. Harry felt another shot of emotion pierce through the icy hopelessness. Rage. It licked like a fire at his insides. They touched her lips. The lips which uttered I love you, you know, while her eyes looked at him such warmth, eyes warm enough to change anything. Even him. Even these monsters. Anything.

I love you, you know.

"Expecto Patronum!" Harry raised his wand arm somehow, he wasn't sure, as a dementor was gripping it at the time. He felt like the spell was being spoken from somewhere inside his chest. He couldn't even feel his face but he knew that he had screamed it one way or another. Out of his wand came a huge stag, which, with what appeared to be glee, drove the dementors away all at once, catching them in the middle and flinging them away as though they were made of paper, cutting through the icy despair like light through fog. The Patronus walked back to him and bowed its great head. Harry reached out deliriously, his hand shaking, and almost touched its nose before it faded away.

Harry looked down at Hermione, her lips were turning back to their usual pink, her breathing became deeper. He touched her curls and smiled as he too followed her into a peaceful unconsciousness.

* * *

"This ought to be them, then, obviously. Sleeping teenagers as reported."

"Right, probably passed out drunk. Let's check pulses and see if we need to call an ambulance or not."

"Pulse is pretty regular, breathing and coloring is all good. Suppose they just need a wake up and a trip to the station, then."

"Should be fun. Must have been three sheets to the wind to end up here like this."

"Say, I can't believe it, but really...doesn't he look a lot like that Potter boy who murdered his family those months ago?"

"Holy...you think?... and, and that girl looks like the girl who went missing with him!"

"Shit. Shit.. Call up more cars, we're going to need to handle this right."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Ron Weasley was not having a terrific day. Dementors always seem to do that, suck the good right out of a day. But then Ron hadn't had a good day in a long time. The Order was on the ropes. It was at a new rock bottom. Or really, it fell to the bottom that had always been there, waiting for the them. They had built it themselves when they didn't communicate, when they stopped having hope for themselves or for the wizarding world.

Ron knew that he shouldn't have been surprised that they had finally reached it when they have been heading steadily towards it all along, but that didn't make seeing it happen any easier.

The Order was in a sort of civil war, in two factions, which Ron considered impressive in a depressing sort of way, as there wasn't a whole ton of people left in the Order in the first place. There were those who thought that holding any stock in the prophecy at this point was ridiculous and those that hung on to it with an almost religious like fanaticism. Even in his own family there seemed to be mixed feelings about it. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he even heard Fred and George arguing about it.

Ron felt, perhaps a little self-centeredly, that his feelings encapsulated both sides of the argument. Ron was equally sure about both sides of it.

It was unfair and unrealistic to leave everything up to Harry Potter, who was, after all, even younger than Ron, had very little knowledge of magic, and had already died facing You-Know-You.

He was also the only shred of hope they had left.

In the quiet hours of the early morning sometimes Ron let it sink that they had lost. They lost years ago. The Order lost when McGonagall had to leave Hogwarts. His family lost the urge to fight, to really fight, when they lost Charlie and Percy. The only thing that kept a spark of hope alive, the only thing that made it so Ron could close his eyes and go back to sleep, was the knowledge that they had found him. Harry Potter was alive and apparently unkillable.

But Ron knew that wasn't true. He knew that Harry Potter could die, very easily, and because of them.

He wondered if it would have been easier if Hermione hadn't been around. If it would have been possible to persuade Harry to fight for them if Hermione hadn't been there. Ron felt pretty certain that he would have, but he couldn't feel bitter towards Hermione about it. After all, she just reminded them, forcefully, what they should have never allowed themselves to forget. That Harry is human.

And is he. In the past, when Ron thought about Harry Potter being out there somewhere still, he pictured someone who would charge into a room, magic hanging around him like a fog, and take charge of everything. He pictured someone tall and wise, someone with all the answers. Ron eventually figured out that he really just wanted a young, alive, Dumbledore. But Harry was not a young Dumbledore. Harry was, well, completely ordinary.

Ron watched him, as all the Order did, with bated breath. He had survived the killing curse. Again. Surely he would do something else spectacular during training? But he hadn't. He was smart and he was powerful, but he wasn't extraordinary. In a different life he probably would have made a good wizard, a respectable one, but not one to enter the history books.

Harry was shy and quiet and not a little sarcastic. Ron felt, when he forgot his disappointment that Harry wasn't more, wasn't better, when he forgot that he was the Boy-Who-Lived, that he was a decent bloke. When Ron let Harry just be Harry in his head he thought that they would make good friends. But as it was, when Ron looked at Harry, he mostly felt let down.

The most extraordinary thing about Harry was how he looked at Hermione. Ginny thought it was so sweet and romantic. It made Ron want to throw up in his mouth a little. Ron didn't see it himself really. Hermione was definitely cute, very smart, and quite kind, but Ron thought her a little bossy for his tastes.

All in all, Harry Potter was just an ordinary wizard in love with a girl. When they left, Ron felt an equal mix of relief and disappointment. The Order's last hope was wandering around unprotected. But at least he wasn't going to get thrown into some war before he was ready by an impatient Moody only to get killed three seconds in. He was actually probably safer in the stuffy room in that abandoned house.

Or at least he was, until Ron realized he messed up.

"You apparated away? You foolish boy!" McGonagall's nostrils flared, sparks shooting out of her wand. It was only them in the headquarters, everyone else had left to search for Ron. "You left Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger there as you apparated away, I'm sure. Have you not been paying attention in the meetings? They track where you last did magic if they get you with the spell!"

Ron felt his ears turn red. "You said that only lasted a couple of hours! I waited three!"

McGonagall took a few deep breaths and spoke quietly, her voice ice. "A few hours after you cast your first spell, idiot child. Say you apparated away, they will go to where you apparated from, but if you don't do magic again for a few hours, then they won't be able to find you."

Ron stared at her, his stomach dropping in panic. "Tell me where they are at once, Mr. Weasley. We'll go help them."

Ron opened his mouth to speak but couldn't. His mouth fell open in horror as Ron remembered. "I-I can't. They made me promise not to tell anybody in the Order where they were. I did a wizard's oath."

McGonagall stared at him, seething in fury, something like worry entering her eyes. "Then you must go help them, Mr. Weasley."

Ron shook his head, almost dazed in his panic. "I'm part of the Order, I think it was implied, at least it feels like it, that I was also included in that promise not to come around."

McGonagall shook her head, her face shifting from anger to concentration. "I will call the Order back, since you are here. And then we will keep an eye out for any reports on strange activity."

McGonagall's patronus burst out of her wand and fled. Ron stared at her, uncertain what to say. McGonagall gave him one last look of disgust before turning her back on him and leaving the room.

* * *

All the Order was in the living room, looking over scrying bowls and maps that took up whole tables that had strange symbols on them. They were looking for any burst of strong magic. Usually they did that trying to find Muggleborns in danger, but there hadn't been any in a long time.

After all, the Order was hardly the only one with those types of maps and the Death Eaters had more resources. They were usually too late.

There had been a lot of Dementors out that night, and a lot of people were using their Patronus. It seemed to have happened in a flurry. The Order stared in panic as there were scatterings of symbols bouncing around the map until there were none. They had no idea if any of them had been Harry and Hermione. It seemed doubtful that they even knew the Patronus charm.

Early morning had come by the time Order sat back, everyone looking at the wall, or the floor, anywhere but each other, knowing that they had failed, once again, to help anyone.

The somber silence was broken by the front door opening and closing and someone making their way in a hurry to the living room.

Tonks burst in, her hair changing rapidly between a fiery red and a neon green. "I found him. Them."

Everybody stood at once, giving her their full attention. Tonks pulled out a newspaper, unfolding it to the third or fourth page and started reading.

"London can sleep a little easier tonight knowing that there is a suspected killer off the streets. Last night two police officers were called to Wayfield Park on the report of two teenagers unconscious in the middle of the lawn. Upon discovering the two teenagers the police recognized them at once as Harry Potter, the prime suspect for the murder of his own family, and his girlfriend, Hermione Granger, also wanted for questioning on the whereabouts of her missing parents. The police called for backup and have brought them in for questioning. It is not clear yet why they were in the park. We have not yet been able to get a statement from the police. We will continue to update as we learn more." Tonks read quickly, then turned the page towards them, showing them the short article which included grainy black and white photos of Harry and Hermione beneath the title.

Moody spoke from the corner. "We need to go to that police station immediately. All of us. I wouldn't be surprised if He showed up himself. Fred, George, grab the darkness powder and some of your other tricks. Everyone disillusion themselves, we leave in two."

* * *

The police station from the outside all was quiet and seemingly normal. However, they all knew immediately not all was well when they felt a strong muggle repelling charm encasing the whole building.

They made their way silently through the front, vanishing the doors so that no one noticed them opening. Inside was chaos. There were police officers lying on the floor everywhere. One was in the corner, behind an overturned desk, occasionally popping out from behind it, aiming his weapon and shooting at the five black clad, masked figures who were standing in the middle of the room.

The death eaters laughed at his attempts each time, standing relaxed in a loose semi-circle. Eventually the police officer ran out of bullets. "Are you finished now, you monkey with a pointy stick?" They all chuckled lightly, as though they were teasing a friend at the bar. "Where is the Potter boy?"

The police officer glanced around the room, trying to find something, anything to help him. He stalled for time. "Why? What do you want with him?"

"I can't imagine why you'd care, beast. He is just a killer anyway. Tell us where he is and we might let you and some of your fellow primates live."

The police officer glanced about the room frantically, his eyes wide, his face very young looking. The death eater started counting down from five. "F-fine! Fine! He is in the back, sixth cell from the gates. The keys are in the drawer by the filing cabinets."

"What an obedient little ape you are. But we won't be needing the keys." The death eater flicked his wand and the desk the police officer was hiding behind flew forward, slamming the police officer into the wall with a sickening, crunching thud.

Moody touched the outline of Tonks and Remus on the shoulder, pushing them towards the gates. He then tapped Fred and George on the shoulder, slapping their bag. He bumped shoulders with McGonagall. They waited until Remus and Tonks were by the gate. Then Fred opened his bag slowly, as not to bring attention to their outlines. The death eaters were talking in the middle of the room, apparently unhurried. George took out a small wind up looking toy which he then threw to the other side of the room. When it landed it made long, extremely loud, irritating screeching sound. The death eaters all turned at once except for one, who after a second turned towards them, pointing his wand. Remus and Tonks opened the gates just as Fred and George let out the darkness powder and McGonagall and Moody started firing into the crowd.

Tonks and Remus disappeared down the hall as the room become impenetrably dark.

All was silence, blackness and shots of different colors. Moody, McGonagall, Fred and George all remained close, touching elbows to not lose each other. Through the darkness the death eater who turned the right way yelled. "Close ranks!" He felt two of his fellows move to his shoulders, one tripping over one of the fallen. The barrage of spells narrowed in on them at his yell. He aimed his wand towards where the spells were coming from.

"Avada Kedevra!" He heard the satisfying thud of a body hitting the floor before he saw a red light hit him and all was darkness.

The spells stopped coming. Moody bellowed, "Behind the wall!" Together, shuffling, they went into the entrance. "On three, lumos maxima. One, two, three..."

Three strong lights came together, piercing through the darkness, which bleed away slowly like water falling through cracks. In the back of the room Tonks and Remus lead a pale Harry and Hermione through the gate, in the center of the room lay slumped the five death eaters. In the front of the room, where everyone's eyes landed, was McGonagall, staring at the wall with blank eyes.

* * *

The dark, grimy, bleakness of the room matched the atmosphere well. Hermione felt sad, uncomfortable and closed in all at once. Every few minutes she would trade glances with Harry, who was, like her, staring out into the room with a somber, awkward look on his face. The silence was a like a weight, making people bend their heads and hunch their shoulders against it.

Eventually Tonks spoke softly from the corner. "Where is he taking her?"

Mrs. Weasley answered in a choked whisper, "To rest with the others, with everybody."

The room gave significant glances at each other over Mrs. Weasley's head until the silence once again dominated the room, bowing everyone's head and causing eyes to move into different corners.

Hermione swallowed thickly, trying to fight down the wave of guilt that was trying to raise in her stomach.

The front door opened and the sound of a thunking gait made it's way down the hall. There was a pause as it reached the door. Everyone stood, waiting, giving each other nervous glances. One moment, then another, passed but no one came through the door. Remus took a few, uncertain steps toward it when the door burst open and Moody appeared, his face pale and empty.

He glanced at every person in the room with his normal eye, his magical one swirling from face to face at twice the speed. "It's done."

"Thank you for taking care of her, Alastor, who did you lay her to rest by?" Mr. Weasley looked grimly into Moody's face, his white knuckles clutching at the hat in his hand.

Moody clenched his teeth, shaking his head once, then twice. His voice came out more gruff than usually, sounding like a growl. "No, you don't understand me. It's done. We're are done. The Order is done."

The room stared back in him in a shocked silence. Ron, who had been standing at the back of room, pale and slouching, let out a strange noise, a mix between a groan and a whimper.

Tonks bit her lip and took a hesitant step closer. "Mad-eye, we can't just…"

"Yes we can. We should have a long time ago. We don't help anyone and we just get ourselves killed. We lost, they won, it is time we accept that." Moody didn't yell or get louder, but his breaths were heavy as he finished talking. Moody closed his eyes, both of them, and whispered, almost like a prayer, "I need to accept that."

More silence as everyone looked at each other uncertainly. Moody kept his eyes closed. Hermione and Harry looked at each other, once again echoing each other's looks of confused sadness. The guilt that Hermione had been pushing down would no longer listen and came up miserably, coming out of her mouth in a scratchy whisper.

"I-I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I know we all didn't part as friends but you still came out to help us, sh-she came out to help us, and…"

"Be quiet!" Moody barked out, making everyone in the room jump. Both of Moody's eyes were open and glaring at Hermione. He opened his mouth several times to speak but couldn't, his fury catching in his throat. Eventually he hissed out, his eyes flashing to Harry, "You. You were a misplaced hope. A mistake. A mistake that cost us a valuable person, you, you useless…"

"Alastor!" Remus yelled, horrified, over the end of Moody's speech. "Literally none of this is their fault. It is unfair to…

Moody's head snapped over to Remus, his face turning red. "Unfair? Unfair!" He bellowed back, his magical eye swinging from face to face, his normal one snapping from Remus to Hermione to Harry, then back to Hermione. "Just. Imagine. Just imagine life being unfair."

He brought his staff down with a thud that reverberated around the room. He took a few deeps breaths, his voice still shaking in anger when he spoke again. "It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. They won't fight for us. They are of no use, anyway, even if they did. Our last hope is hopeless, our numbers are dismal, we are of no help. We need to disband. Take your things and your loved ones and go to different safe houses, we can see what scrap of a life we can all make for ourselves now."

There was a shocked silence once again ringing throughout the room. Mr. Weasley spoke nervously, turning his hat in his hands. "Why-why would we need to disband? Separate safe houses? Is that really necessary?"

Moody considered him for a minute, he looked again from face to face, save Hermione's and Harry's, and let out a deep, tired sigh, one that seemed to be from someplace deep inside Moody's heart. He spoke wearily. "We can't all stay here together. We will just continue to do the same things, sacrifice and sacrifice, try and try, only to die, all of us. No, we need to split, to try our fortunes separately. We need to try to live and we can't do that together, we are too use to pushing each other, too use to having a cause."

Mrs. Weasley tucked her hand into Mr. Weasley's arm and he looked down at her. They had a long silent conversation, Mrs. Weasley nodding her head once after a few minutes, a strange gleam in her eye. She whispered, "We'll go."

Remus sat down in shock. Tonks covered her mouth with her hand. All the Weasley children yelled out at once, "Mum?" "What!" "No!" "We can't just…"

But Mrs. Weasley just shook her head, her eyes bright, and pulled her children towards her. "Enough. That's enough, now."

The Weasleys stared at each other for a long minute, so many emotions across all of their faces. Ginny, whispering, asked, "Where will we go?"

Hermione stood, silent, next to Harry for hours, while the Weasley's and Remus and Tonks moved about the house, taking their always pre-packed bags and a few extras and putting them downstairs in separate piles. She watched as they talked about who would get what safe houses, logistics, concerns, worries. She watched as Remus and Tonks hugged all of the Weasley's goodbye. She nodded at Tonks when she gave her a small, watery smile. She shook Remus's hand after he shook Harry's and felt a strange swell of emotion as she heard them crack out of the hallway into an unknown future.

The Weasleys gathered, all their worldly possessions in small piles around them. They all looked at Harry and Hermione for a long moment before Harry choked out, "Th-Thank you for everything, I wish…" Harry trailed off, uncertainly, his face vulnerable.

Mrs. Weasley nodded, her face crumpling in a quiet pain as she walked forward and took Harry's face between her hands. "This is not your fault, dear. You're a good boy. You two be safe and look after each other, you hear?"

Mrs. Weasley moved away from Harry and grasped Hermione's hand between her own, giving her a small smile. Hermione squeezed her hand back and give her own watery smile to the rest of the Weasley's. Harry waved as they all reached forward and touched a newspaper, waving back at him, until they popped out of existence.

Moody, Harry and Hermione looked at each other, Moody's face hardening, Harry and Hermione's smiles slipped away.

"Where will you go?" Harry asked, emotionless.

Moody smirked at them, "Aye, I think that you all will be able to tell, soon enough."

He clunked to the edge of the room, his hand on the knob, when he turned to look at them with a grim smile. "The house is all yours, now. Enjoy." He then left, opening and closing the door softly behind him.

"What does that mean? How will we tell where he is going to go?" Harry asked, tense.

Hermione looked at him, frowning. "He didn't take anything with him."

* * *

Hermione felt wrong putting her things in the newly abandoned room upstairs. "It just feels, I don't know, cold, moving in like this right after they left, right after she died."

Harry sat down on the bed with a sigh. "I'm more worried about them coming back, honestly. Especially Moody, I still say he sounded vaguely threatening."

Hermione looked over at him with a frown. "He had perfect opportunity right then and there if had wanted to harm us, Harry."

"I know." Harry was still staring down at his hands blankly. Hermione watched him as he collected his thoughts. Eventually he looked over at her, a strangely vulnerable look on his face. "Is this my fault?"

Hermione considered him for a minute, remembering her own feelings of guilt earlier. "No, I don't think so."

Harry sighed, his face trying to smile and frown at the same time, ending up in a grimace instead. "I've never really had anyone on my side before, the way that you are Hermione. I don't think that you know how much I… but I need to know the truth, you can't spare my feelings."

Hermione smiled at him, feeling somewhat amused despite everything. "You think that I'm sparing your feelings? I've never been accused of that before." Hermione paused, thinking, the grin slipping of of her face into something more thoughtful. "No, I feel, I feel bad that McGonagall was killed trying to save us. I truly do, but I don't think that guilt is quite the emotion."

Hermione leaned back onto the bed with a sigh. "She wouldn't have died if she hadn't come to save us. But then we wouldn't have needed saving if Ron hadn't attracted the dementors in the first place. Still, this isn't Ron's fault either. I suppose, really, it is the person who killed her's fault. What happened to them anyway?"

Harry looked down at her, his brows knit, his expression grim. "I think they killed them. Moody took away McGonagall, Tonks and Remus took us back here. I think Fred and George stayed behind and killed anyone who wasn't already dead."

Hermione felt sickened. Harry looked at her face and took her hand. "I know. I know. But I don't suppose I blame them. They weren't going to be thrown into jail. They would just escape from a muggle prison and they aren't considered criminals in the wizarding world, so…"

Hermione curled into a ball on her side, her knees drawn to her chest. "Everything is so dark."

Harry patted her hair, his expression far away. "I'm sorry."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's not your…"

She sat up suddenly with a gasp, her expression changing at once into one of raw panic. "Oh god, oh no!" She jumped from the bed and ran over to her rucksack, pulling things and tossing them to the floor until she found the small mirror.

"Hermione, what's happened? What's wrong?" Harry knelt down beside her.

"Neville! Neville Longbottom, please! Neville!" Hermione yelled at the glass.

Neville's face swam into view, pale and worried. "Hermione! What's happened, it's the middle of the night!"

"What happens to memory charms when the person who cast them dies? Are they permanent?"

Behind her Harry let out a low groan of understanding.

Neville looked confused and alarmed. "What is this about? I don't…"

"The Order of the Phoenix, McGonagall, actually, changed my parent's memory so that they wouldn't remember me and so that they thought they wanted to move to Australia. McGonagall is now dead. What happens to my parents?"

Neville stared at her in amazement, "McGonagall is dead? I...When did that...dead?" A strangely conflicted look stole across his face, he looked a little lost, staring into the distance.

"Neville, please, my parents!" Hermione burst out, her voice high, slightly hysterical.

"I-I'm sorry, Hermione, I'm not sure. I'll have to ask. I'll ask professor Flitwick, he-he'll know. I'll ask him first thing tomorrow." Neville looked at her, worry and apprehension of his face.

"Thank you Neville, let me know as soon as you can, please?" Hermione's voice was thick. Neville nodded solemnly and the mirror went dark for a second, then only showed Hermione's frightened face, tears starting to drip down on her cheeks.

Harry scooted in closer and wrapped his arms around her middle as she let out a shaky, fearful breath.

* * *

Everyone at the rally started speaking in quiet whispers all at once at the announcement of them having a member of the Order the Phoenix. Charlie Mendacium smiled more genuinely at the interest.

Harry and Hermione looked at each other across the courtyard, horrified. Harry's heart, already beating fast, started to pound in his chest. He didn't want it to be any of them, not any of the Weasley's, not Tonks, not Remus. His mind started a panicked mantra of no, not them, no, no, no, no, no.

"Yes, let's bring out our lovely guest."

Two burly wizards brought out a man with a hood over his head, dragging him in between them. They threw him down on the stage to his knees. One reached over and pulled off the hood on his head.

A young man, brown hair and dark eyes blinked at the sudden light. He stared out at the crowd, tears starting to stream down his face all at once. "Please, please, I haven't done anything, I promise I won't do it again, please, please! I-I love the dark lord." He let out a desperate gasp and started rocking back and forth. "Please, I'm a pureblood! A pureblood! Second class, but still a…"

The woman in pink slashed her wand, a malicious smile on her face, and the man was silent, his mouth still moving. He realized he was no longer making sound and started rocking back and forth again, crying harder.

Harry and Hermione looked at each other once again, confused. The man on stage was not a member of the Order of the Phoenix.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

"Hermione, honestly, this pity party you throw yourself every year is just..."

"Mum, I'm not asking you to cuddle me, just leave me alone."

There was a moment of silence, then two. Hermione put her head against the door, listening for her mother's retreating footsteps. Instead she felt a hard thud as her mother hit her door with her fist. "Hermione I...I'm just so frustrated. Would it kill you to tell me what's going on? For the love of all things Hermione, do you think I'm just going to go, 'Oh, alright then, if you just want to cry alone on your birthday, fine with me, ta!' Why, every birthday, why?"

Hermione let out a long slow breath, closing her eyes against the unreasonable pain in her chest. She could hear her mother breathing loudly in the hallway, could imagine her bright eyes, the flush over her cheeks, her mouth a thin, displeased line. Hermione opened and closed her mouth a few times, trying to formulate her thoughts. In the hallway her mother let out a long, low sound, half groan, half growl. Hermione winced as her mother hit her door angrily again. "Whatever Hermione, just...let me know when you are done with your tantrum."

Her mother clopped down the hallway rapidly in her heels. Hermione moved away from her door and slept the rest of the day away, curled into a small ball, ignoring her father's tentative knocks for dinner.

The next morning Hermione came down for breakfast feeling grimy and relieved that it was the weekend still. Her mum was making toast, her dad frying eggs, they were muttering sharply to each other under their breaths, becoming quiet just as she entered the kitchen. They looked significantly at each other as Hermione sat down at the table.

Her mother looked at her a long moment as she sat down and helped herself to some toast. "Any plans today, Hermione?"

Hermione took a slice, nibbling at the corner, avoiding her mum's eyes. "No."

Elizabeth looked down, spreading butter and saying in an overly casual voice, "Oh, well, I was thinking of getting some shopping done today. How would you feel about getting some Autumn clothes?"

Hermione felt drained just thinking of shopping. "No, thank you."

Her mother stared at her, chewing her toast aggressively. Charles let out a long sigh from by the sink.

"Come on, Hermione, what girl turns down free clothes?" Her mother was still trying to sound light, but her hand was clenched tightly.

"Ones that don't want to go shopping right now, Mother." Hermione put down her toast and grabbed her cup, choosing to stare down at the liquid instead of her mother's glare.

"Oh for heaven's sake, Hermione, tell me what's wrong!" Her mother sounded more upset than angry. Hermione felt her insides twist with feeling, she wanted to respond but couldn't think of how, didn't know herself.

Still not looking at her parent's Hermione stood up, "I think I'm going to go back upstairs…"

"The hell you are young lady! What is wrong, just tell us what's wrong! Have you gotten in a fight? Did you fail a class? Did someone hurt you? Is it something we have done? Did something happen to you on your twelfth birthday? You've been a misery every birthday ever since…"

Hermione looked up at her mother, suddenly furious. "Oh, thank you Mother, that will make everything better, keep insulting me..."

Her mother's eyes widened and started to tear, her face flushed with anger, "I'm just trying to understand..."

"You can't understand!" Hermione's voice and pulse rose rapidly. Strangely this seemed to calm her mother down. She looked vaguely amused if still hot around the face.

"Oh, I see, we can't hope to understand you, tragic teenager…"

Hermione slammed her cup down. "Oh on a roll mother, first insult me, then mock me."

Elizabeth blinked rapidly, looking upset again, "Hermione, sweetie, I'm not trying to do either. I-I just don't know what to do, you usually tell us everything, but every year..."

But Hermione wasn't really listening to her. She felt the misery, the sense of loss she had felt since her twelfth birthday, swirl in her stomach and she felt it burn into an anger, coming out of her mouth uncontrolled, like steam. "Shows you what you know then, Mother. I don't tell you everything. You don't know everything. You and Dad go around talking about how close you are with me, what a good girl I am, how mature I am, but you don't know the first thing… The first second I'm not perfect and you fall apart and start being, being such a, such a ... bitch!"

Elizabeth gasped, tears coming to her eyes, her hands shaking.

"Hermione Jean Granger, congratulations, you get your wish, go to your room and don't come out until you are ready to apologize to your mother!" Charles bellowed, his shock quickly changing into anger.

Hermione stared at both of her parents, the sudden fire of her anger gone, making her feel cold and empty inside.

"Now!" Charles jabbed his finger towards the stairs. Hermione turned on her heel and left.

An hour later, Hermione was in her room, pacing, all nerves and guilt. She thought of her mother's shocked face at her words and felt tears slip down her cheeks. There was a soft knock a her door. Hermione wiped her tears away quickly and opened it, her mother was standing on the other side, her face a mess of emotions. She stared at her silently, her posture a little cold.

Hermione hiccupped and threw herself at her mother. "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me, but you certainly didn't deserve that."

Her mother sagged in her arms a little, letting out a small laugh. "That's more my Hermione." Her mother pulled away a little, looking into her face. "Apology accepted, though I think, with all that, I deserve some sort of truthful explanation."

Hermione bit her lip, nodding. They sat down on her bed. "I, I wish I understood, but I don't know, I just, I just feel.." Hermione looked into the middle distance, trying to find words that fit. After a few seconds, confused, Hermione found a word that seemed to match her mood. "Loss. I feel a loss. Like I've lost something important." Hermione looked at her mother, frowning, shrugging, "I don't know why."

Hermione's mother looked back at her,concerned. "I, I didn't really start to feel a sense of loss on my birthday until I hit my mid-thirties, it just felt like life was passing me by…"

Hermione shook her head. "It's not like that. I've only just turned sixteen. I don't feel worried about getting older, not yet, anyway."

Elizabeth sighed, taking her hands. "You know, things like this don't always make sense, sometimes things don't become clearer until later. Like my fear of driving, I suppose. It scares me so much to be behind the wheel, but I've never been in an accident, no one I know has ever been in a serious accident, even, but still, I'm so afraid when I drive. Eventually I realized that it's a control thing, driving just hits all of my anxiety buttons. So perhaps, eventually, you will realize what it is you think you are losing every birthday. I just know it helps to talk about it, it won't go away by you working and reworking it in your head, darling."

Hermione nodded, thinking. "Sorry again, Mum, I suppose I just bottle things up sometimes…"

Her mother snorted, reaching over and combing her fingers through her hair. "That's a wee bit of an understatement."

Suddenly Hermione felt herself rocking a little. Startled, she looked around at her still room. She heard her name being yelled from a distance, getting louder and louder. She turned to look back at her mother, but she was gone, the space on her bed next to her empty. Hermione felt her sense of loss grow again, the rocking and the yelling getting more intrusive.

"Hermione! Hermione! I know you've just got to sleep, but wake up, it's Neville. HERMIONE!."

With a jerk Hermione came out of the dream of her memory of her sixteenth birthday. Harry was leaning over her, his eyes tired, holding up a small mirror that had Neville's beaming face in it. "Hermione, I have some good news."

Hermione sat up with a gasp, taking the mirror from Harry. "What did your professor say, Neville?"

"He said that if a talented witch or wizard cast the spell, that the intention of the caster should be part of how the spell unwinds, even after death. So say someone cast a protection charm on a house, or something, with the intention of keeping it secret forever, then when they die, the magic can continue on for quite sometime. But say that they only meant for the magic to be temporary, had every intention to reverse it, then eventually the magic will fade." Neville's hesitated a second, uncertain. "The bad news is that, because the caster is no longer alive, it is hard to tell how long that will take. It won't be all at once, the way it would be if the caster just reversed it themselves."

Hermione had listened with rapt attention, watching Neville so closely that her breath was making fog on the mirror.

"S-So you're saying that, if McGonagall did mean to reverse it, then, then my parent's memories will slowly come back?"

Neville nodded, looking thoughtful. "I suppose good news was too strong of a word, but it certainly could be worse news. Honestly, Hermione, I was fairly certain that it would have been permanent…"

Hermione gave a few shaky nods. "Th-thank you for checking Neville, you've really helped."

Neville smiled kindly at her. "It wasn't a problem at all, Hermione. Flitwick actually was impressed I was asking such a question, so it was good. You should get some sleep, you look half dead." Hermione gave him a tiny smile, wishing him good night.

She stared at the wall, not certain what to think.

Harry took the mirror from her limp hands and started to rub her back, speaking softly. "So, it sounds like they will get their memory back. McGonagall said that she would fix them, eventually. I'm sure it will be weird for them to slowly start to remember you. Of course, we don't know when that might be, we're not sure how long she was thinking…" Harry let out a shaky sigh.

Hermione felt anxiety bubble its way up her stomach. She couldn't seem to think straight, her mind circling on, 'What if she had meant for it to be permanent? What if she didn't believe that we would ever win the war? What if it takes them twenty years to start remembering? What if they get hurt, have an accident, before they remember, and I never see them again? What if…' Suddenly Harry's hand seemed too hot, too heavy on her back. She shrugged it off.

"I'm going to see what I can figure out in the Black library."

"Hermione, you got maybe two hours worth of sleep. We literally just escaped prison, I think you…"

Hermione turned away from him, walking towards the door, her voice sharp. "I know what I need to do in order to relax, Harry, thank you."

"I'm just trying to help…"

Hermione glanced back at him from the doorway. "I don't need your help right now, Harry, I'd just like to be left alone."

Harry frowned at her, giving a hesitant, uncertain nod. "Let me know if you need anything, any help at…"

"Thank you." Hermione spoke over him, closing the door with a click behind her.

* * *

Harry felt lost and sickened watching the sobbing man on stage. He wasn't a part of the Order of the Phoenix, so what was this? He glanced over to Hermione, who was watching the the woman in pink, her frown hardening, her eyes calculating.

Charlie Mendacium spoke again. "This is no ordinary member of the Order of the Phoenix either. This man helped the so called, 'Mad-Eye' Moody enter the Ministry to finish out his terrorist attack against us last month." At this the crowd became louder, shuffling to look at the crying man on stage. The fake Order member looked back at Charlie Mendacium, shocked through his tears. He started to shake his head rapidly, his mouth clearly forming the words, 'I didn't, I didn't.'

The women in pick shot a spell at him and his whole body froze, only his eyes moving in wild panic in his head.

Harry felt the air get colder. The crowd around him hushed in a sudden terror, their speculation at the man on stage freezing in their throats. Neville had warned them, he had been counting on it, even, that dementors would show up. He said that they would be there to remind everyone of their place. But Neville hadn't said that they would show up for this purpose.

As they got nearer, the ministry employee and the radio host stepped off of the stage and cast patronuses which walked along the edge of the stage, protecting the crowd from most of the feelings of horror the dementors brought with them.

The dementors glided on stage, three of them. One grabbed the crying man's left arm, the other his right, and the middle leaned down, stroking his cheek almost lovingly.

Harry gripped his wand tighter, glancing across the crowd towards Hermione, who looked back at him with a determined expression. They raised their wands at the same time.

* * *

Harry hadn't seen Hermione all day. He had breakfast, he cleaned the kitchen, he sat in the living room staring at the wall, trying and failing not to think of McGonagall still and crumpled on the ground, paced in front of the library door, laid down for an restless nap, and was now sitting in front of the library door in a stupor, wondering what Hermione was doing.

Neville hadn't given a lot of information, but there was nothing he could do about it. The rest were variables; McGonagall's intent, the power of her magic, how long she wanted to keep Hermione's parents in the dark, it was all unknowable.

Harry sighed, resting his chin on his knees. He couldn't help but think of Hermione's notes on her Odd Moments, all those details all color coded. He thought of her meticulous nature. He would bet anything that Hermione kept a compulsively detailed homework planner as a student. He could imagine her putting together a mapped out itinerary for for any trip abroad, her bags packed neatly the week before hand.

Yet, since she met him, her life has been chaos, running from the law, running from murderers and monsters, being homeless. To say she had been a good sport about it was an understatement. Harry wondered if it wasn't the idea of seeing her parents again that had pulled her through all of this so far. He couldn't imagine how the uncertainty around her parent's fate was driving her in miserable circles.

His stomach clenched, his mind reeling in panic as it occurred to him that this might be the final straw, maybe she'd leave him.

He jumped to his feet as the library door opened, revealing Hermione, her eyes red, her hair a halo of frizz. She blinked at him, once, then twice, then moved passed him, walking down the hallway towards the bathroom. Harry stood in the hallway, his heart pounding with stress.

What was she thinking?

Hermione emerged, her face damp, her hair tied back in a large bun and shuffled past him, reaching for the library door, silent.

Harry grabbed her shoulders worried and exasperated. "You can't be serious Hermione, you look dead. Go to sleep." He started to pull her down the hallway but she wiggled out his grasp, her eyes both distant and sharp as she stared at him as though seeing him for the first time.

"No, I need to do more reading. I have to make sure that they'll be okay. I have to. It's all my fault, Harry, I have to make sure…"

Harry reached for Hermione's hand, frustrated. "It's not your fault, it's not your fault at all, why would you think…"

"I let her change their memories, Harry, I watched her do it. I didn't stop her, I just trusted them blindly for no reason and now I need to know that they will be okay. I just trusted that this would finish and that even if she didn't like me should be able to fix it. I need to read…" Hermione tried to move past Harry, but he moved in her way, blocking the library door with his body.

"Hermione, you didn't even know that she was doing a memory charm, what were you suppose to do? And what are you even reading? None of those books can tell you McGonagall's intent." For a second Hermione's face crumpled, grief and worry in every part of her face, but then it changed back to distant and sharp in an instant.

Squaring her shoulders she tried again to move past Harry, but he stayed firm.

"Go to sleep, Hermione."

"Move, Harry."

"No."

Harry and Hermione glared at each other, their arms crossed. After a few beats Hermione stomped her foot, letting out a low hiss. "You don't understand you stupid boy."

Harry felt irritation creep it's way up his spine. He thought perhaps he was tired too. "I understand that you need sleep."

Hermione stepped in close to him, her voice dripping with venom, no louder than a whisper. "I don't need to sleep. I need to save my family. You've never had a family, at least not one that cared about you, so no, you don't understand."

Harry looked down at Hermione's face, the dark circle under her eyes, the strange hate sparking there, the harsh line of her usually soft mouth, and felt like he had been kicked in the stomach, then felt nothing at all, an eco-y sort of empty.

Harry moved out of the doorway, still staring at her. Hermione's eyes filled with tears, her mouth opening and closing, all the hate gone from her face, replaced by shock and sadness. "Harry, I'm…"

Harry just shook his head, turned on his heel, and went downstairs.

* * *

Neville looked from face to face, frowning at their frowns and stiff posture, their body's pointed away from each other. "You both look beat. I'm sorry to interrupt … whatever it is that's happened now, but I know that you both don't get the post and this is very important."

Harry and Hermione nodded, looking down at him warily.

Neville looked down at the newspaper in his hands, giving a small cough before reading aloud. "'Madness and the Ministry. Known terrorist from the group calling itself the Order of the Phoenix, Alastor Moody, entered the Minister of Magic Tuesday, killing Entrepreneur Lucius Malfoy, three aurors, and destroying the iconic Magic is Might statue in the atrium. Moody entered the Ministry of Magic at nine am by means still being investigated by the Auror department. He made his way unseen until he came across Lucius Malfoy talking with the Minister and killed him instantly with the Death Curse. The use of the Unforgivable set alarms off, immediately calling a team of aurors to the atrium. The subsequent duel between the terrorist, formally an auror himself, and an auror team of eight lasted a reported 15 minutes.'

"'In that fifteen minutes Moody killed three aurors and injured three more. He blew up the iconic Magic is Might statue, making the debris spell out the words 'Whose Blood is Muddy?' on the Atrium ceiling. The Ministry currently has curtains blocking it from view as they work to take it down. Auror John Stevens is credited by team mates and witnesses as being the one who managed to finally end Moody's campaign with a well aimed Severing Charm.'

"'The clearly politically motivated attack reminds us all of the constant underlying threat of Muggles and Muggleborns…' The rest of the article is basically just talking about how dangerous everyone but purebloods are. There are other articles talking about the aurors lost in action and Moody's history and things like that. I've already owled you both a copy…"

Harry and Hermione looked at each other, eyebrows raised. Neville glanced between them nervously, licking his lips. "You...You both were friends of his?"

Harry and Hermione both shook their heads automatically. Neville looked more at ease. "I...I don't like the things that the Ministry does, obviously, but this doesn't seem like the right answer. Those aurors were innocent, I mean, this all wasn't there fault. And why Malfoy and not the Minister who was standing right next to him?"

Harry looked down at Neville feeling strangely angered. "After everything, after all this, I can't really say I'm too broken up about it, Neville. I'm being hunted, Hermione is being hunted, from all sides because of these people. We can't live, anyone like us can't live as we are because of them. And I wouldn't say the auror's are innocent as they are the ones enforcing this fucked up system."

Neville looked back at Harry, his cheeks flushed. "You can't be saying that this was the right way to go about things…"

Harry snorted, his anger mixing with his tiredness, making him vaguely dizzy. "Oh, and what would you have us do, peaceful protest? Write angry letters? These people, some of them are actual monsters…"

Neville's eyes flashed, his face getting redder. "Some of them yes, but not all of them, not random people in the atrium…"

Hermione let out a long sigh and rubbed her head. Harry and Neville looked at her as she spoke softly. "Both of you are right, or wrong, really. Harry's right in one way, Neville. I'm not really feeling too broken up about law enforcers who enforce laws that say I'm subhuman and deserve to die." Neville paled slightly, his eyes looking conflicted. "But Neville is also right, Harry, this isn't the right way to go about things. Morally, but also strategically. You heard Neville. The article made what Moody did something to further justify the Ministry's oppressive actions. All Moody did was worsen the Muggleborn image. He made it so people can feel sympathy for the Ministry. Just look at Neville, who knows better. Even he feels bad for them."

Harry nodded, thinking. Neville looked at them with a slightly abashed expression. "I haven't forgotten what kind of system this is. I'm not suddenly for the Ministry…"

Hermione nodded, giving Neville a small smile. "We understand, Neville."

Harry looked at him, still frowning, and shrugged. "So what should we do, then? Killing people off like that is ineffectual and we obviously can't do any other type of protest…"

Neville frowned into the distance, contemplative, "...The rally. We could do something at the rally…"

"What rally?" Harry asked, his head in his hands.

"There is a rally celebrating the Dark Lord and purebloods every year… It's awful… I think, if we wanted to make a statement, that would be the place to do it."

Hermione looked at him, her eyebrows furrowed. "Make a positive statement, something that would be people rethink muggleborns, something that highlights how awful the Ministry is...You said people don't like them much, right Neville?"

Neville nodded, "People don't like Moody, but you'd be surprised. People aren't as upset as you'd think. There has been a lot of mutters about his 'Whose blood is Muddy?' thing as well…But look, I have to get to class. Easter break is next week, I'll need to spend most of it with my family but I should be able to get away. Perhaps we can get some practice in?"

Hermione smiled at him. "That would be great, Neville, thank you. I think we should all think about this rally too, see if we can come up with something that makes sense..."

Harry and Neville nodded in agreement, everyone waved good bye, the mirror turning dark and then looking ordinary.

The silence was heavy in the room, Harry glanced over at Hermione, swaying as she sat, her face drawn. Harry moved forward, putting his arm across Hermione's chest as he fell against the bed, bringing her down with him. He pulled the blankets next to her around her, pulling them towards him until Hermione was wrapped in them, her arms trapped. "Go to sleep, Hermione." Harry ignored her watery smile, taking off his jeans and shoes and slipping into bed next to her, his back towards her.

Harry felt Hermione shifting behind him, grunting as she untangled herself from the blankets. After a few moments Harry felt her lean against his back, her face in between his shoulder blades, her arm across his stomach. She whispered, muffled against his shirt, "I'm so sorry Harry. I had no reason to say that to you. It went passed mean in to cruel. I-I miss my parent's terribly but I won't offer any excuses, just know I'm truly sorry."

Harry felt tension leave his shoulders, he took Hermione's hand in his own, noticing her small fingers covered in paper cuts. "I don't blame you, really. It wasn't nice, but then, I really expected you to blow up at me ages ago, after all that I've put you through. Honestly, I thought you might leave, so, thank you for staying."

Harry felt Hermione's breathing become shaky on his back. He felt two warm wet spots grow larger on his shirt, Hermione's arm gripping him tighter around the middle. "N-no, you didn't deserve those mean words at all, Harry, I have no excuse, it's not your fault. None of this is your fault. You shouldn't have to take insults like that at all, not from anyone and especially not from me. I'm not going anywhere, so you don't have to take me being awful just because you're worried I'm going to leave."

Harry felt a wave of complex emotion, hard for him to decipher, rise up in his chest, he squeezed Hermione's hand, unable to speak. Behind him Hermione sniffed, tangling her legs with his, and whispered into his back, "I am sorry and I love you."

Harry felt a strange pain in his chest, like an old wound aching before a rain storm. "I love you, too."


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

"I don't want to go back to Hogwarts." Neville was staring blankly into the middle distance, water dripping from his hair.

Hermione came in from the kitchen carrying a towel and a tray of tea. Harry and Hermione exchanged worried glances over Neville's head.

"What happened Neville? We weren't expecting you for a few more days?" Hermione leaned forward in her chair, concerned.

Neville took the towel and the tea, giving Hermione a vague smile in thanks. "I flooed home and told my family I had somethings to do that couldn't wait. They looked kind of scared but let me go well enough…"

Neville rubbed the towel through his hair, his expression distant.

Harry licked his lips, wanting to ask but afraid of the answer. "W-What happened at Hogwarts?"

Neville stared down at the towel now resting in his lap. "They tortured us."

Harry felt his fist clenching involuntarily. Hermione gasped.

Neville haltingly continued. "No-Not all of us, just some of us. The Ministry, since Moody's attack, has been worse, if possible. I'm not popular at school, to say the least, but even I've been hearing people muttering, talking about Moody, getting sick and tired of only a few of the students being considered 'pure.' The Ministry has been writing more and more things about how magic is passed through pure-blood, how important it is to preserve it. People have started to post things up at school, saying different things, questioning things. Someone, a couple of days ago, spelled together all the different articles about pure-bloods into giant letters that said, 'Whose blood is muddy?' across the ceiling of the Great Hall."

Neville looked up at them, looking a little more focused. "I wish I had thought of something like that. All the students cheered. It was amazing. Everything felt strangely lighter than they ever have. Students were talking loudly together, pointing at the ceiling, laughing. People forgot to sit at their house tables, instead standing and eating, just watching while the professors tried to take it down."

As Neville spoke a sort of half smile formed on his face, but after a beat of silence his stare once again became distant. "Then the aurors and officials came the next day. They made a speech about how we were all losing our way, forgetting our places, that they were doing a service for the Wizarding World in general by reminding us…"

Neville shivered, taking a sip of his tea with shaking hands. "They started grabbing students at random, making them say their status, making them say they supported that status. They made spoiled-bloods crawl on the ground. They made half-bloods serve the pure-bloods their dinners like house elves. When a half-blood came up to me with soup, I took it from him...I don't know what I was thinking, I was just so sick of it all. I started serving people too. An auror stopped me, asked what I was doing. I told him 'I'm not any better than anyone else here, so I'm going to serve people too.'

Neville took a deep breath, his hands clenching his tea cup. Hermione watched him, her eyes wide and gleaming.

"The auror slapped the soup from my hands and said 'Know your place.' Then he called over a spoiled-blood and made him start cleaning up the soup with a rag. But I reached down, I reached down and started helping too, and Hannah, another pure-blood, starting helping me. All across the hall people started to do that. That's when the officials lost it, they yelled out, 'correct them.'"

Neville put his cup down, his face pale. "Then the aurors, they started using the Cruciatus curse on anyone who wasn't sitting or doing what they were suppose to…"

Neville looked up at them, tears in his eyes. "Th-the Cruciatus really hurts, you have to understand, it really…" Neville took a deep shuddering breath.

"It felt like forever, but I think it had only been a minute. I went back to my seat. Everyone went silent. Everyone went back to their seats, or went back to cleaning or serving. I didn't...I didn't want to feel it again…" Neville blinked rapidly, tears dripping down his face. "So I just let a half-blood serve me, I just let a spoiled-blood clean up the soup, I'm sorry, I couldn't…"

Hermione moved next to Neville, grabbing his arm with her hands and putting her head on his shoulder, her lips shaky. "You were so brave, Neville, so incredibly brave."

Neville looked up at Harry, his eyes ashamed, but Harry shook his head, frowning. "No, you were amazing Neville...I don't think I could have done the same. No one blames for not continuing when they cursed you…"

Neville gave a grave, small smile, and patted Hermione's hand. "Th-that's nice of you both to say… At any rate, the Ministry said they would be back once break ended, just to make sure that the message stuck."

Neville put his head in his head, his fingers in his hair. "I don't want to go back."

Harry stared at Neville, feeling shaky. Hermione leaned back into the couch, her arms across her chest, her brows furrowed. After a few moments Hermione let out a short laugh, more like a loud burst of air than laughter. Harry and Neville exchanged glances, surprised. "They are so stupid, so, so stupid." Hermione had a vicious smile on her face.

Hermione leaned forward, her face intent, her voice passionate. "I'm so incredibly sorry that happened to you Neville, but they couldn't have helped us out more than if they had thrown themselves into jail."

Harry and Neville shared glances again, this time confused. Hermione spoke, her hands slashing, punctuating what she was saying. She looked like she could barely stay seated. "They have completely destroyed any sympathy they might have gained from the loss of life at the Ministry by making the aurors attack the students. Rather than try to reemphasize their propaganda by giving more to the people in power, by say, giving more benefits to people based on their ranks, they punished everybody in the Hogwarts with their terrorizing. By cursing even pure-bloods, like Neville and that girl Hannah you mentioned, they made it clear that they aren't even trying to protect pure-bloods, but themselves. I've never seen a government shoot themselves in the foot so thoroughly."

Harry felt like he knew what she was saying. The Ministry had painted themselves as everyone's enemy. He too leaned forward, his heart racing. "We have to act soon. As soon as possible."

Neville and Hermione nodded, their hands shaking, pale, but their eyes dancing.

"I know we need to do something, but I'm not sure what. Hermione and I, well, we're trying, but our magic isn't…"

Neville and Hermione both shook their heads at the same time, and started speaking at once. Hermione's voice was stern. "It's not a display of power we need, but of solidarity…" Neville's face was frightened. "I didn't tell you both this so that you would go off and try something stupid…"

Neville and Hermione both stopped speaking, smiling quickly at each other. "You go ahead, Hermione."

Hermione nodded, frowning, and looked consideringly at Neville. "What do you think of the Order of the Phoenix, Neville?"

Neville frowned at her, shrugging uncomfortably. "I...I never liked them. They never seemed to be helping anybody, they would just go around, blowing this and that up, scaring people… It felt like they hated the ministry more than they wanted to help muggleborns."

Hermione tilted her head, watching Neville with sharp eyes. "And what if I told you that they spent a lot of time watching maps, trying to find muggleborns before the ministry did in order to get them to safety?"

Neville looked at her, his eyebrows raised. "Really? That was good of them...But that doesn't change what they did otherwise, what McGonagall did to Hogwarts…"

Hermione nodded, her face focused. "So, people didn't hate the Order because they were helping muggleborns, they hated them because they seemed destructive?"

Neville looked thoughtful, nodding his head hesitantly. "Yes, I suppose. After the war, nobody wanted more violence."

Hermione made a noncommittal humming noise, then after a beat asked, "What do you think of Harry Potter?"

Neville looked at Harry, grinning a little. "Well, Harry's a really nice bloke, a lot more grounded than I was expecting…Mostly, I can't believe that he's alive."

Hermione leaned forward, her eyes shining, almost predatory, closing in on her point. "That's good Neville, I think Harry's a nice bloke, too, but, what I mean to ask is what do you think of _Harry Potter_?"

Neville looked confused for half a second, then his face cleared in understanding. "Legendary. I think he's legendary. Of course it is forbidden to talk of him, but everyone knows who he is. I think that there is an underlying feeling of, 'I wonder, if Harry Potter hadn't died…' or of 'Maybe someday there'll be another Harry Potter…' When I found out you were alive, I seriously couldn't believe it, you both don't know how happy I was."

Harry shifted uncomfortably, seeing where Hermione was arriving at finally. "So if Harry Potter showed up and did something defiant, something helpful, and showed himself to be a man of the people, at say, that rally you mention, then…"

Neville smiled at them. "It would turn the whole Wizarding World on its head."

Harry sighed, shaking his head. "I don't have a problem putting myself out there anymore, I hate this whole regime and what it does in general and everything it has done to Hermione and I's lives. But we have talked about this before. Sure, maybe my presence will shock the Wizarding world into revolution or something, which I think is a little too easy, but how am I supposed to show myself and you know, not die immediately? I can't duel."

Hermione nodded at him, biting her lip. "Yes, the logistics you brought up before."

Harry gave a small smile. "Yes, that pesky thing."

Neville shook his head. "No, no, I think that it might be possible. The rallies are always terrible. They're, well, boring, they just make a lot of speeches and make everybody come when they don't want to. They always have dementors show up at some point, just to make everybody feel extra miserable, then some Ministry higher up drives them away to prove that they can…"

"I thought that you said that most witches and wizards can drive them away?"

Neville shook his head, sighing. "First, most can't. Only one person in a family, usually. Everybody just tries to learn it now. Second, they don't drive it away with the a Patronus, but with the 'Might of the Ministry.'"

Harry and Hermione traded incredulous looks. Neville gave a humorless laugh. "The Ministry doesn't really control the dementors, but they do have a deal with them. So the dementors help them out at this rally. They show up because of the crowd, some puffed up official yells at them to leave or face the wrath of the Ministry, the dementors act scared and leave, and then Ministry leaves them alone, mostly. That way we can see that the Ministry is frightening even to dementors, meaning that we should be too. At the same time it shows that they are the only thing keeping dementors from feeding on us all the time. It's all a big show, and truly stupid, but it seems to work. Everyone feels down for a long time after the rally…"

"Why doesn't someone at the rally just send the dementors away before the Ministry does then, if some people can do it?"

Neville shook his head. "You never want to draw attention to yourself that way. Nobody has ever done it, but we all know that if you stood up to the Ministry like that at the rally, then you would later find yourself surrounded by a whole bunch of dementors, or dead from a potions accident, or whatever else."

Harry nodded, giving a grim smile. "Well, I do want to draw attention to myself. And at least I do know how to use a patronus against actual dementors, so, that's it then. But that still leaves the question how to do that without immediately dying."

Neville smiled, "I think you are imagining there being a lot more security than there usually is. Usually there's a speaker, some Ministry snobs, and a lot staff like stagehands. I've never noticed any aurors. I think because it would take from the idea of the bureaucratic Ministry itself being important. Like, we all know if someone tried something at the rally, then even if there aren't any aurors there, they will still eventually be punished. I think it adds to the ever-present feeling the Ministry tries to give off. But well, I've never really been looking for aurors before either, so I'm not certain...But you know, I'm fairly certain that I know who put up the sign at school, and I think can convince her to help out… We could stun the employee and the speaker...I doubt the stagehands would fight, why would they..." Eventually Neville started to mumble to himself more than anything.

Harry sighed and leaned back into his chair. "So, our plan is that we should go to this rally, I should wait until the dementors show up and you and this mystery person will stun the Ministry reps, and I'll step in, drive away the dementors, and announce who I am, to what, rally the troops?"

Neville blinked a few times, looking at Harry, then shrugged and said, "I guess so."

Hermione leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. Her earlier enthusiasm drained entirely from her face. "You two can't be serious."

Harry scoffed, his eyebrows raised. "You were the one that suggested this!"

Hermione opened and closed her mouth a few times. "I-I did suggest that Harry be used for a sort of anti-ministry symbol, something to unify everybody against them, but perhaps the rally might be too soon, we can think of a different plan, something less dangerous…"

Harry shook his head, feeling faintly frustrated. "No, it has to be soon, now, while people are still thinking of the horrible things the Ministry did at Hogwarts. The rally would be a perfect place for it. A lot of people will be physically there and we won't have to depend on media, which would probably distort things…"

"Yes, but it just doesn't seem likely that we will be able to fight Ministry employees, drive off dementors, and then have you make a speech and just leave, does it? It doesn't seem like it will work at all."

Neville leaned forward, a determined expression on his face. "I'm serious, I think I can get someone else, the person who made the newspaper sign, to help take out the Ministry employees. I really don't think there will be aurors around, I mean, they will show up pretty quickly, I think, so we would have to move quickly, but then Harry can fight off the dementors, you can be there for backup, and so will I, and then he can announce who he is, and what he's about. As for escaping… I have a portkey, illegally, one my family gave to me awhile ago, in case of an emergency. We can all meet up on the stage and portkey away…"

Hermione shook her head, looking flushed around the neck. "There are so many holes in this plan, Neville, I can't even begin to count them…"

"I'm in," Harry said softly.

Hermione swung looked at him, scowling. "Harry…"

"Hermione, there is no such thing as a risk free plan. I'm sick of this, I'm sick of hiding, of being on the run, of being hunted, with no way to fight back. We need to take action."

"We shouldn't be taking action for action's sake, Harry, we can do better than this…"

"Can we? Do you have a better plan? And I think we do need to take action for action's sake, Hermione. I think passivity is what got the Wizarding world in this mess in the first place…"

"Oh, that's good. I would mention that in the speech for sure." Neville added, exchanging quick smiles with Harry.

Hermione looked between them, frowning. "I don't think this is a time for jokes, Harry could die…"

Harry shrugged and reached over, lightly taking Hermione's hand in his own. "I think it's time, Hermione, that we admit this might be bigger than the two of us."

* * *

Hermione never hated herself more than she did at this moment. She had gotten excited, her mind reeling with the strategic improvement the Ministry had given them. Her analytical mind jumped quickly through different scenarios, deciding what would be the best action to take the fight that monster and his little dystopia.

Looking at what she knew and what Neville had told her, Hermione figured that Harry really would be the best person for the job. The best person to get the Wizarding world to care enough, to believe in itself enough, to cut into Voldemort's dictatorship.

The Wizarding world knew that Harry had defeated Voldemort before, as a baby. He could easily become the symbol to fight against him, now that the Wizarding world was well and truly sick of the way things had gone and were going. Even as Neville was talking about how they might be able to pull off taking over the rally, Hermione had started writing short, succinct speeches that might make the most impact for their pro-muggleborn, anti-Ministry, anti-Voldemort cause.

But as Neville talked more and as Hermione started to revise the speech again, it occurred fully that that would mean putting Harry directly, entirely, in danger. Somewhere along the way, in her hatred of the Ministry, in all the strategizing, Hermione started to think of Harry as Harry Potter.

But he wasn't Harry Potter, he was Harry, her boyfriend Harry. And like so many people before her, she sacrificed him for her ideas, for her purposes.

But Harry didn't care about sacrificing himself, he never had. She knew that she was too late to change his mind, too late to take it back, when he said it was bigger than them. She knew it was bigger than them, but she was the only person, the first person, to care if Harry sacrificed himself. Until she didn't, until she sacrificed him for the Wizarding world.

Hermione had failed where she promised never to. She forgot that Harry, as a person, deserved to be fought for as well.

So as she stared at his determined face across the crowd, as she raised her wand to fight off the disgusting monsters holding the innocent man on stage, she promised herself that she would, with the same grace, with the same small smile on her face that he had had on his when he stepped between her and that green light, come between him and whatever death might be striking towards him. With all her power, she would be his shield this time. It was only right.

From the crowd, then from the distance, as though from a high angle, two red lights raced towards the left side of the stage, hitting Charlie square in the chest, making him slump to the ground. The other one missed, making a puff of dirt a few inches to left of the woman in pink. She immediately put up a shimmering shield, her wide face a furious red. Hermione aimed her wand at her instead, yelling out a stunning spell just as another red light from the high angle made its way to her. Together the two spells broke through her shield and the toad like woman fell back with a thud.

Harry raised his wand and yelled with authority, "Expecto Patronum!" The beautiful stag burst out, flinging the dementors, who were inches away from the man's face, back with force. The man slumped forward. Harry ran up the stage steps and pulled the man up right. Hermione, from below, aimed the counter courses at him. He immediately became sick, leaving a mess in front of the stage. Shaking badly he stared up at Harry with wide eyes.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked, his voice carrying over the shocked silent people.

The man nodded, still shaking. "Wh-who...Who are you?"

Harry straightened a little, still holding the man up by his shoulder, but now addressing the crowd.

"I'm Harry Potter. I am here to save you. To save all of you." Harry's bright green eyes scanned the crowd, his voice echoed across the silent courtyard. Harry moved his bangs away from his face, showing the faint outline of his scar.

Hermione stared up at him, mesmerized. Suddenly a small blonde girl, her hair astoundingly long, stood shoulder to shoulder with her, staring up at the stage, too.

"The Ministry does not work for you, it works for itself. It does not protect magic but destroys it. It does not help you, it helps that Monster that can not be named. You all have been lied to, bullied, belittled, diminished, made to feel afraid. But I've come here to tell you enough is enough. I will put an end to it. But I will need your help."

On her other side Neville came up to her, his eyes watching Harry with intensity.

"First, watch out for each other. They only have power because they pick us off, one by one. If we all look out for each other, hold each other accountable, we will become unstoppable."

The crowd moved closer, still silent, but a different kind of silent, full of energy. Hermione glanced back at them, at their awed faces.

"Second, I want you all to do what is right, not what is easy. We have done easy for a long time now. It's easy to look away, easy to take what you can get, easy to hide. But look at what you have, nothing but fear. We can do better. We can be free. We can."

Harry took a step towards the edge of the stage. The crowd surged forward, pushing Hermione, the girl, and Neville into the wooden sides of the stage.

Harry's voice rang out stronger, furiously, his fist clenched, his face pure determination. "We can be free, not through pointless destruction, but through purposeful cooperation. We can be a society that allows people to be, to practice magic, to fulfill all their potential, regardless of their blood. We can do this together, with bravery, with good hearts. We can take back our lives from the dementors and death eaters dogging our steps disguised as the Ministry."

Hermione heard cracks from the back of the crowd, people apparating in, their voices loud. Harry's voice got quieter, as though he was speaking to each person in the crowd individually. "I'll take care of Voldemort. Again. You all take care of the Ministry. Together."

At the word Voldemort, many things happened at once. The crowd gasped in shock. There was even more cracks and yelling from the back of the crowd. Neville grabbed both the girl and Hermione, tapped a golden watch with his wand, reached out and touched Harry's foot, and Harry reached out and touched the innocent man, just as a wall of different colored spells arched from the back of the mass of people towards the stage, pulling them all away before the spells landed.

The girl, Hermione, Neville, and the wrongly accused man landed in the forest clearing, standing, taking a few staggering steps to correct their balance. Harry, who had travel foot first, landed on his back, his leg up in the air like a synchronized swimmer. His leg dropped with a thud, he groaned loudly, getting in a sitting position. He glared a Neville, standing up and grabbing him by the collar in one quick movement.

"We just left those people there, Neville. I literally just made an ass of myself telling them to work together and then I just abandoned them. We have to go back...We have to help…"

"So you are real." A soft, dreamy voice somehow cut through Harry's yelling. Everyone turned to look at the girl.

Neville pulled out of Harry's grip with a slight cough. He addressed the still shaking man from the stage first. "Errr, I...I think you should go."

The man nodded, looking around uncertainly. He stared at Harry for long moment. "Th-thank you." Harry nodded. The man turned with a crack and apparated away.

"Umm, this is Luna Lovegood. Luna, this is Hermione Granger and Harry Potter."

Luna inclined her head to Hermione then turned her eyes back to Harry. "You really are Harry Potter, a hero."

Harry blinked once, then twice at her, then shook his head. "Some hero I am. I left them there."

"You didn't make an ass of yourself, you know."

Harry looked at her for a long moment and let out a long hissing breath. He turned back to Neville. "I thought you said there weren't going to be any aurors!"

Neville flushed angrily. "There weren't any at first!"

"What if they hurt everyone in the crowd. What if people get hurt because of I thought I was important enough to talk to them about how they should act. What if…"

"So you should have just let that man have his soul eaten?" Neville asked, his voice gruff.

Harry sputtered for a second, frustrated. "No, but, what about all those people?"

Luna spoke again, looking at an pine cone closely. "They'll be fine. No one will get hurt because of you, right now at least. They will tell the crowd that you were insane, or some criminal. They will lie. But no one will believe them."

Luna pulled off one the pine cone scales and watched it fall to the ground.

"Why do you say that?" Harry asked almost desperately.

Luna smiled softly. "Because we all saw your sincerity. In all these dark years of lies and masks, your face was painfully honest."

Luna started rolling the pine cone in between her palms, making a strange sort of squeaky grunting sound as she tried to smoosh it between her hands. She giggled softly at the red indents the still intact pine cone made in her palm.

Harry glanced back and Neville, eyebrow raised. Neville just shrugged, and nodded his head as though to say, "What can you do?"

"Besides, you told us all to stand together and fight the Ministry, so we will."

Harry groaned, rubbing his hands through his hair. "They aren't going to do it just because I said so...I don't know what we were thinking, deciding I should give a speech like some politician."

Luna dropped the pine cone to the ground happily. Grinning, she looked up into Harry's face and causally traced his scar with her index finger. Harry tried to step back but she grabbed his shoulder, holding him there. "You are Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. You would be surprised, I think, about what people will do just because you said so."

Luna stopped tracing his scar and went back down to her heels from her tippy toes. "Also, most importantly, we will stand together because we have wanted to for a long time now. Like friends who fought so long ago we can't remember what we have even fought over. Rather than worry about the crowd, Harry Potter, I would worry about the people who aimed spells at you."

Luna turned away from Harry and made her way over to Neville. She touched his arm as she looked at Hermione, while addressing Harry. "Will you really destroy you-know-who, Harry Potter?"

Harry looked over at Hermione's frozen face and answered Luna. "I'll do what I can."

Luna nodded while Hermione's back stiffened. "I'm very happy you're back Harry Potter, very happy indeed. Neville, I need to go tell my dad to run now. I'll be seeing you all."

With that, Luna pulled out a radish earring and tapped it with her wand before anyone could say anything, disappearing with a pop.

Hermione turned on her heel, looking at Harry with a sharp expression. "What did you mean by telling them all that you would take on you-know-who, Harry?"

"It was prophesied…" Harry started, but Hermione hissed and stomped her foot.

"You know what I think about that damn prophecy, Harry."

Harry sighed, stepping closer to her. "It doesn't matter what you think or what I think about it, Hermione. He believes it. He will hunt me down. He will continue to corrupt the Ministry. We can't live our lives with him around."

Neville glanced between them nervously, backing away a little.

"Someone else…" Hermione started, Harry shook his head.

"But we told the Order. You told the Order that you wouldn't…"

"No," Harry said softly, his expression gentle. "I said I couldn't. I still can't. But Hermione, there is no one else. I have to try. We need to start with the horcruxes."

Hermione opened her mouth furiously to argue. He had fought against the Order when they said this to him. He was willing to fight for himself then, why…

But she couldn't say those thoughts, looking at his resigned, determined face. The difference now, she understood, was that it wasn't the Order telling him this, it was him telling him this. Before it was the Order throwing him in front of a bus. Now it was him, willingly stepping into battle.

And Hermione could see, on every line of his face, that that made the difference.

Hermione felt her back straighten as she too understood something. If Harry wasn't going to fight for himself, then she would. If Harry was going to walk into this fight with his head held high, then she would join him, his equal, and would fight for justice and freedom. She would put those bigger causes in front of her own self.

And when Harry tried to sacrifice himself, Hermione would be at his side, ready to step in front of him as he had done for her.

Harry stared back at her, nodding. Hermione nodded back, knowing her face matched his own intensity.

From by the trees, Neville asked. "What' s a Horcrux?"

 **The End**

 **A/N Thank you so much for reading all the way to the end! I have started the sequel, which is up and in progress.**


End file.
